Storm Born
by Morgen86
Summary: It was supposed to be their one chance to be together. Instead it plunged them straight into a nightmare. An alternate look at what could have happened in "Touched" and beyond. R/K
1. Harbinger

_Do not go gentle into that good night_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light _

-Dylan Thomas

**I. HARBINGER**

She was exquisite.

Richard trembled as he stood before her and hoped he pleased her. That he did not stand too near or too far. She had asked to speak to him alone, and he could barely think through the cloud of worry that filled his mind. As long as she stayed silent, he could not know her wishes. He longed for her words so he might know what to do. What she desired. He drew a deep breath and hoped it was not too loud for her liking.

She took a step closer, smiling at him, and he thought he would weep at her kindness. The afternoon sunlight floating down through the trees set her golden hair ablaze like a crown. Annabelle. He thought it the loveliest name he had ever heard, though he would never dare call her that. Only Mistress.

He cast quick glances to his left and his right, scanning the woods for the slightest disturbance, any sign of harm that might be coming for her. But all was quiet and peaceful. She was safe, and he breathed easier. When he looked back at her, his mistress smiled still.

"Richard," she said softly, like a song. His heart beat faster. He could barely manage a nod of his head, so great was his joy that she was finally speaking to him. She clasped her hands together and looked away, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she spoke, "I have a task for you, Richard. I think you will like it."

Oh, he would. If she wanted him to, he would love it. "Mistress, what would you have me do?"

Though the blush stayed on her cheeks, her eyes were full of mischief and delight. "I want you to lie with Kahlan," she said with a hint of a giggle. "You love her, remember?'

A gaping pit opened up inside him. He had loved Kahlan once, he remembered, but that had been before. Before he had known that all love began and ended with his mistress. Before she had touched him and shown him how wrong he had been. He tried to clarify, "But I don't love her, I love you."

She frowned and Richard knew he had somehow displeased her. Still she spoke so gently to him, even though he had answered wrong. "It would please me greatly if you gave her a child."

"A child?" he asked.

"Yes, Richard. A child. Will you do this?"

"If it pleases you, Mistress, I will." He hesitated, still afraid she might believe he desired another more than her. But his mistress drew closer and laid a hand on his arm. He thought he might die from the pleasure of her touch alone.

"Then go to her," she said, a smile spilling across her face. "And know that this makes me happy."

Relief flooded him. His heart sang in his chest to have a task he could accomplish for her. He would give Kahlan a child. For his mistress's pleasure.

* * *

_So, this was super short. More of a prologue than a proper chapter. I'll post the next chapter early tomorrow. Just as soon as I get some sleeeeeep._


	2. Splinter

**Warning:** It's not particularly graphic, I don't think, but this does deal with rape.

* * *

**II. SPLINTER**

Shivers ran through her – hot and cold at the same time from the damp earth and Richard's open mouth against her flesh. Kahlan threaded her fingers through his hair and arched up into his touch. Her power was building inside her in a tight, dizzying spiral and she let it. It frayed the edges of her mind, or maybe his hands had done that, she did not know or care. Magic thrummed unchecked beneath her skin, but she only pulled him closer, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't hurt him now.

She could not claim his soul.

He belonged to Annabelle. Her hands didn't care and they slid down his shoulders, over taut muscle and smooth skin. But the moan on her lips died away, and she found her voice despite herself. She shouldn't ask. She shouldn't. And then she did.

"Richard?" she gasped. "Richard, what are you thinking about?"

He loomed over her, his fingers curling in her hair. "Pleasing you."

She hesitated, "Because your mistress ordered you to?"

"Yes." He said it so simply even as he dove for her flesh again, his weight settling between her legs. So welcome and yet…

Kahlan swallowed hard. "You really love her, don't you?" she asked, trying to ignore the way her stomach churned. He beamed at the question, and his smile cut her like a knife.

"With all my heart."

She closed her eyes against his words. And then she pushed him from her to sit in the dirt, dead leaves tumbling from her dark hair. Desire drained away and left her cold; the gust of wind that rattled the branches overhead covered her bare arms with gooseflesh.

She could feel her grip on her power become more secure as the coil of magic resettled in its proper place deep inside her. There was a feeling in the back of her throat too close to tears for her liking, and she concentrated on her dress instead, gathering the bodice and clutching it to her breast. She couldn't do this to them. Even if it meant never getting to be one with Richard – that the child she would one day have to bear would be sired by a man she felt nothing for, and who felt everything and nothing at all for her.

Her heart began to hurt with every beat, and she tried not to think about the way he was looking at her now. Or what he would say when he was her Richard again. She stood up, pulling her dress closer still like a shield.

"Where are you going?" He had followed her to his feet, and something in his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

"It's alright," she soothed. "You don't need to…" She bit her lip, not knowing what to say. Love me as your mistress ordered you to? Her cheeks reddened and she stared at the exposed roots of the nearest tree rather than meet his eyes. "You can get dressed, Richard."

"No," he said. "I can't." And then he was between her and the path, kissing her, his mouth hot and demanding against her own. His hands found her waist and urged her back to where they'd made their bed in tumbled leaves and grasses. She broke from his kiss with a shake of her head only to kiss him again a moment later as her mind spun.

"Lie down," he said. He was firm and insistent, and before she knew what was happening, she found herself on the ground once more. But now she felt ever dry leaf itching at her bare skin and all the broken bits of branches biting into her back. He peppered her skin with kisses and was slow to raise his head when she pushed at his shoulder a second time.

"Richard," she said, and somehow her voice sounded smaller than she remembered it being. "Stop. This should be special, if this ever happens. Because we found a way to…" A hot blush burned its way across her face as she trailed off. "Not because you're confessed."

He regarded her a long moment, the warmth leaving his brown eyes. "You want me to displease my mistress."

"No, no," she said in a rush, squirming a little, caught between his body and the ground. "Never. I just think we should stop and go see Zedd and Cara and Anna – your mistress," she amended.

His tooth pendant swung back and forth above her as he shook his head. "You don't like her." He kept going as if piling evidence against her. "You tried to kill my mistress. I know you, Kahlan, and you're trying to trick me. You want me to displease her."

A ripple of fear ran through her. It was an odd sensation; she had never had anything to fear from a solitary man before. She saw how ordinary women walked faster as the sun started to set, how they'd put as much space as they could between themselves and a rowdy tavern with doors that kept spilling out drunken men. But one man alone was no match for her magic and even without it, her daggers were always there. And Richard, dear spirits, she didn't think she had it within her to fear him. She knew no one kinder. Trusted no one more.

But when Richard began to bunch up the fabric of her skirt, she tensed all the same. It struck her how very far they were from the clearing where the others waited, how very alone they now were. She doubted anyone would hear her scream. If she could even bring herself to scream at the touch of the man she loved. She tried to roll him off her instead, but this time he held her down. Though they were nearly matched in height, she did not have his strength. Fighting for her was a light, quick dance, her strength found in being faster than her opponents, more graceful than they could be. Richard's strength was in his sword and the corded muscles of his arms, and she could not move him.

Instinct sent her hand shooting out to grasp the hilt of her dagger before she even realized what she was doing. She was faster than him. Had he been anyone else, his throat would already be slit. But even as she found her grip, she knew it would not help her here. She hesitated far too long, the dagger shaking in her hand. The man looming over her was lost to a world of mindless devotion, staring down at her through the glassy, feverish eyes of the confessed. He would sooner die than fail his mistress. Yet he was still her Richard; she would rather suffer this than spill his blood.

Kahlan let go without a fight when he hooked a hand around her wrist and jerked it away from the blade. She could see in his eyes the change that had taken place in his mind; she had become a threat to his mistress's orders. She felt only a numb sort of surprise when he pinned both her arms above her head, holding them and his weight up with one hand, his fingers biting into her flesh and pressing her to the ground.

He pushed her skirt higher, and she tried to think. Confessed men could be tricked by a person clever enough. She could confuse him, make him believe what Annabelle said wasn't what she really wanted, if she could just think of something to say. But her mind stayed blank. Time rushed past her and stretched endlessly on at the same time. It left her dizzy, and all she could follow was the hand sliding up her thigh, the calluses from his sword rasping over her bare skin. He was not rough with her, even confessed there was some small element of the Richard she knew still there, but his motions were determined and unrelenting. It took a lifetime and yet no time at all to get her skirts up.

"Richard, please," she said desperately as he reached down with the hand that wasn't restraining hers, unlacing the front of his pants, freeing himself. "It's me." It was all her mind could string together.

He stopped and studied her face. For the span of one breath she dared to hope that somehow, despite confession, he still cared for her in his heart. But then he spoke, "I don't want to hurt you, but my mistress has ordered I give you a child." All the dead Confessors laughed at her inside her head as he pushed into her without preamble as if it really was that simple. The Mother Confessor was a fool. To a confessed man, it was always that simple. Pain seared through her and she stifled a cry, and then he was moving above her with the same, steady determination that had lifted her skirts.

Richard still held her wrists, and the feel of them caught and bound turned her breathing ragged. Panic swelled in her breast at the old memories of the rope her father had tied around her wrists every night. She remembered how it felt to sleep with her hands bound above her head, unable to even hug Dennee as she lay weeping beside her. It had been a long time since she'd felt so powerless.

"Wait," she cried. "Richard, my hands!" The words tumbled from her lips frantic and high-pitched like the rope-tied child she'd once been, and he stilled inside of her. "My hands. Let go of them." When he only stared at her, she let out a small, whimpered sound. "Please. You know why."

He considered her words a moment. "You won't try to stop me again?"

Kahlan shook her head, and the dried leaves rustled beneath her, dead and defeated. "No," she said quietly. "I won't."

A moment later, he'd let go and her hands tingled. She let them fall to her sides, moving them gingerly, her wrists sore from bearing so much of his weight. He began again as soon as he'd released her, the pain still sharp and bitter between her legs. Kahlan knew every hair and crease on his face, considered each precious fleck of gold in his brown eyes as familiar as her own name, and she tried to think on those things instead. The man she loved was lost somewhere inside him. But when she forced herself to sling an arm around his neck and pull him closer, more for his sake than hers, tears spilled from her eyes and kept coming until he was through.

**xxx**

Birds twittered overhead, and the hazy, golden light dappling the forest floor should have been peaceful, but it took Kahlan three tries to do up the laces on her Confessor's dress. Richard scuffed his feet as he waited, obvious in his impatience to return to his mistress now that his task was done.

The walk back to the clearing took even longer than she remembered, and they made the journey in silence. She wasn't sure what she would do if he started praising Annabelle now, and so Kahlan let several paces fall between them and put herself to work pulling all she felt from her face. She tucked it away behind the ache in her chest, leaving her expression quiet and impassive.

At last, the trees began to thin and she heard familiar voices. Richard bounded ahead of her into the clearing just as Zedd looked up from his seat on a fallen log. "Ah, the two lovebirds have returned!" he declared around a mouthful of bread.

Annabelle hurried to her, hand in hand with Flinn. "How was it?" she gushed in a loud whisper as if they were sisters. As if she could be anything at all like Dennee. "Was it everything you ever imagined it would be?"

Kahlan closed her eyes a moment. She had planned the long trek back how easily she would walk into camp and answer their questions without giving away her pain, but she found she could not speak. When she finally summoned her voice, it came scraped over broken glass.

"Change him back. Now."

Zedd gave her a puzzled look, but when she made no move to elaborate, he nodded his head towards the waiting quillion. "Well, of course, dear one. We can't keep him like this."

Flinn and Richard both cried out in protest when Annabelle knelt before the vibrant, purple crystal, but Kahlan barely heard them, and Cara kept them at her side, under the reach of her Agiels. The quillion glowed, and the air crackled with the familiar feel of Confessor's magic. It charged through the clearing like wildfire, yet felt dull against her skin.

She knew the exact moment when Annabelle's powers were drained and her hold on Richard broken; she watched as his eyes swung from his mistress straight to her, adoration morphing into shock and confusion. No one else seemed as certain. Zedd hurried forward to study the crystal, needing to verify with words what she had known from a single look.

Only she and Richard stood unmoving. She felt very strange, as if she stood on the opposite side of a great chasm from everyone else, hearing only echoes of life. She forced herself to meet Richard's eyes again. He still stared at her, now with a look of open horror slashed across his face. A sob began to build in her throat that she knew she would not be able to suppress, and so Kahlan did the only thing she could think of.

She turned and slipped away into the safety of the woods.


	3. Howl

_Thank you so much to you lovely people who've taken the time to leave feedback on the story. I've been putting a lot of work into this, and I really appreciate hearing your thoughts. So thank you - you made my day!!_

* * *

**III. HOWL**

"Richard, are you all right?"

Zedd's voice shook him from the nightmare of his newly returned mind. His grandfather stood in front of him, white hair in disarray, pale eyes blinking questions at him.

Richard had no answer. It couldn't be real. He gripped the hilt of his sword hard enough to make his hand hurt, and then gripped it harder still, welcoming the pain. The hot, angry magic of the sword churned in his blood, mixing with the anguish he already felt until it was as if a monster crawled beneath his skin. Images of Kahlan flashed through his mind and wouldn't stop.

"Where did Kahlan go?" asked Annabelle. He rounded on her at the sound of her voice. Moments ago, he had found it to be a thing of beauty unsurpassed. Now it sounded young and selfish and foolish, and it took all the control he possessed not to pull the seething sword from its scabbard and level it at her throat.

"This was your idea?" he demanded. "Sending me to her was your idea?" He knew it had to have been. Kahlan would never have come up with such a plan on her own; it was not her way.

Annabelle blinked at him, her mouth gaping open. "Yes. But wasn't it romantic? You look upset."

"Romantic?" he snarled. "I was confessed! You have no idea what you've done to us." A hot wave of nausea swept over him and he stared at Annabelle, trying to fathom how he could have ever loved her instead of Kahlan. Ever placed her wishes above Kahlan's. "You're a foolish girl with no understanding of real love," he said, advancing on her. "You should have never interfered in this. You had no right. You've—"

"Richard!" Zedd's bony hand gripped his shoulder as if to comfort him. "Slow down there, my boy. It wasn't such a bad plan, even if she is a tad naïve. Kahlan has to continue her line, and with you confessed, she could bring no harm to you."

"You convinced her!" he cried, jerking away from him at the realization. His mind raced, words tumbling out in a heated rush, "Of course. She'd listen to you. Wizard of the First Order. My grandfather! You told her it made sense! That it was her duty, as the last Confessor!" Rage twisted through him. "How dare you, Zedd?"

Zedd frowned, his white brows bunching together in the middle. "Take a breath, Richard. And let go of that sword before you run one of us through."

Richard's hand dropped to hang at his side, and as the anger from the Sword of Truth died away, he realized how loudly he'd been shouting. His throat felt hoarse, and everyone stood frozen, staring at him. It didn't matter. He was a monster; let them stare.

He raked a hand back through his hair and tried to think. He had to find Kahlan. Had to beg her forgiveness. But Zedd put an arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the others.

"Now tell me what has happened," he said in a quiet voice, heavy with concern. "Where has Kahlan gone?"

Richard shook his head. "I…" He could barely form the words. "I don't know. You sent me to her confessed." He closed his eyes only to be met by the memory of Kahlan's frightened, pleading face. His voice cracked, "She wanted me to stop, but I…wouldn't. I couldn't. Because I had to do my mistress's bidding," he spat in disgust.

Realization crossed his grandfather's face, and then Zedd was looking at him in pity, sorrow showing in the wrinkles around his eyes. He wanted none of it. "Let me go," he said roughly and pushed past Zedd, starting for the forest. "I have to find her."

**xxx**

Kahlan hadn't bothered to hide her trail the way he'd taught her, and that gave him back a sliver of hope. Perhaps she wanted to be found. He didn't use any of his usual tricks to pass silently through the woods; it hardly seemed the time to catch her off guard. Instead, Richard pushed branches out of his way and let them slap back into place with a heavy rustling of leaves. Now and then he snapped a twig in two beneath his boot.

When he caught up with her, she was sitting at the base of a giant oak tree, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped tight around them. She had her face turned away from him, her cheek resting against her kneecaps. The hem of her white dress was muddied and travel stained, and huddled up as she was, it made her look like she was dissolving into the ground.

He hesitated, just staring at her, feeling uncertain and out of place. Kahlan had to know he was there, but she hadn't looked up. Perhaps she would rather see Zedd now, or even Cara, instead of him. It took more courage than he'd ever needed to face men and monsters in battle just to make himself say her name.

"Kahlan," he whispered.

Slowly, she raised her head and looked his way. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were red rimmed and swollen, her cheeks streaked with half-dried tears. He stood and studied the ground and tried to keep from crying himself. "If you want me to go, just say the word," he offered though he wasn't sure how he'd live if she sent him away.

"No." Her voice was soft and kind, and she seemed very small like that against the ancient tree. He almost wished she'd sound angry instead. "Don't go." She pushed her hair back from her face, giving him a tiny, tremulous smile, and it was then that he saw it. A bruise in the shape of his thumb on the side of her wrist. Guilt and grief flooded him anew, and he sank to his knees.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes brimming with tears. "I am so sorry."

Kahlan pursed her lips together. Her hands trembled where they gripped her legs, her fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress like it might disappear at any moment. "You have nothing to apologize for. You were confessed."

"I still should have been able to—"

"Been able to what, Richard?" she snapped. "It's confession! That's how it works. You can't disobey your mistress. If she'd ordered you to run me through with your sword, you would have done it gladly." He wondered if that was supposed to make him feel better at all.

"I'm still sorry. I would never…" His voice cracked, and he stared up at the leaves overhead. Most were green, but here and there a few had turned red, signs of the coming fall. "I can't believe I did that to you."

Kahlan hung her head, her dark hair curtaining her face from his view. They stared past each other as they spoke as if their eyes were now too scared to meet. "I'm the Mother Confessor," she said quietly. "I should have realized what could happen." Her laugh was short and hollow, and she tugged on her dress with her bruised hand. "I should never have agreed to go through with it when you, you couldn't even say if you wanted to or not."

"Kahlan," he hesitated. They rarely talked about what her magic kept them from. Not openly, at least, and now he wasn't sure he had the right. He drew a deep breath. "You didn't agree to have me do anything I wouldn't normally…" His face heated, and he stared down at the mossy ground. "Don't blame yourself for that," he muttered. "My own grandfather was telling you it was a good idea."

He felt a surge of anger at Zedd for endorsing Annabelle's foolishness. It prickled over his skin and set his blood thundering in his ears without even laying a hand to the Sword of Truth. If Zedd hadn't convinced her, this would never have happened. He wouldn't have the memory of pinning Kahlan to the ground burned into his mind. It left him feeling like a criminal. "Why didn't you fight me?" he asked, and even he could hear the bitterness in his voice. "You had your daggers. You should have stabbed me."

He regretted the words as soon as she looked over at him with wet, shining eyes. "You would have fought back. You would have sooner died than failed her." A solitary tear cut a shining trail down her cheek. "I couldn't kill you, Richard. Not for anything in this world."

He nodded and stared at the dark, spongy moss growing around the tree without really seeing it at all. He still wished she'd stabbed him. "I'm sorry," he said again. He didn't know what else to say.

"Stop." Kahlan leaned over, resting her hand against his knee for a fleeting moment before pulling back into herself. His skin burned at the touch. "It's done," she said quietly. "I don't blame you." But all he could see was the bruise he'd put on her wrist, and he did. He did blame himself.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"We go back and open the locket from Pamora. We find the Stone of Tears and seal the rift." She spoke without emotion, standing and brushing the dirt from her dress. He'd been asking about the hollow feeling that filled his chest. About how he desperately wanted to hold her, but was afraid even to touch her. How he was supposed to live with himself now that he had raped the love of his life. But Kahlan made no mention of it, and he knew he couldn't expect her to have any answers. It was enough that she was still speaking to him. He staggered to his feet through the nightmare, and followed her back to the clearing, caught in a world of silent grief.

**xxx**

Flinn and Annabelle were gone when they returned. "I sent them on their way," said Zedd in answer to his unspoken question. "They plan to see the ocean together, I believe." Richard couldn't say he truly cared where they went, but he was glad they were gone. Zedd turned towards Kahlan, the wrinkles deepening around his eyes. "Dear one," he began. "Are you…"

"I'm fine," Kahlan cut him off, stalking past him to their pile of gear. She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder while everyone watched. The air in the clearing crackled with tension, and Richard waited, half expecting her to say that she'd changed her mind. That she was leaving and never wanted to see him again so long as she lived. Instead, she tightened the straps on her pack, and spoke with the sort of impatience that sounded like it belonged on Cara, "The Seeker's back. We should open the locket now."

They all moved at her words. It was unspoken, but he could tell that her wishes had become absolute law, not just for himself, but for Zedd and Cara as well. She had become the fulcrum around which they all turned.

Zedd pulled out the locket he'd guarded since Pamora and handed it to him. It settled heavy in his palm – the weight of cold metal and responsibility – and he tried to focus on that. The quest felt small in the aftermath of confession, almost as if it belonged to another distant life. But he dug his nail into the clasp on the locket and popped it open. It clicked and whirred as it unfolded, revealing tiny, detailed runes etched in a silver ring. At the center sat a stone no bigger than his thumb. The stone glowed a brilliant shade of blue.

"Is it the Stone of Tears?" asked Cara eagerly.

"No, I think it's a compass," he said as he studied the runes. They belonged to that strange language only he as Seeker could read, and they shifted and wavered in his mind as they always did, before settling into words he had never learned but somehow understood. "_This orb will guide the Seeker's way_," he read aloud.

"To what?" pressed Cara as the compass began to hum, giving off a familiar, tingling feeling he'd come to recognize as a sign of magic. The blue light danced and shifted when he turned his hand, and he realized it was giving them a bearing. Due north. He glanced at Kahlan, but her face was unreadable.

All he could do was what she'd asked. Find the stone and seal the rift. "Hopefully the Stone of Tears," he said and started north, the compass glowing in his hand.


	4. Consequence

**IV. CONSEQUENCE **

Her moon blood never came.

Kahlan waited and waited for it, counting each passing day on her fingers. She walked around in a daze, consumed by constant, gnawing worry. There were moments when she felt desperate enough and almost asked Zedd to use his magic, to stretch out his hand and search for a new life already growing silently in her womb. But she always pushed the desire aside and buried it deep. If she was with child, he would want her safely sent to Aydindril, and then the gulf that now stretched between her and Richard would widen and worsen into something insurmountable. She feared if she left him now, the man who had once been her dearest friend would forever be a stranger to her.

Though they traveled together day in and day out, it felt like she saw less of him than before. She suspected some sort of conspiracy had taken place between the two most unlikely allies – Zedd and Cara managed to never leave her alone with Richard for more than mere moments at a time. Somehow, the space between their bedrolls had grown greater, and neither of them had said a word about it.

Silence had spilled into every corner of her life. Her feelings had all become gnarled into a knot in her chest that she couldn't begin to unravel. And Richard had turned solemn and stoic, saying little to anyone that did not directly pertain to the quest. Kahlan found she missed him fiercely even when they stood side by side.

They had stopped for the night in a thick forest of pine trees, and sat eating on opposite sides of the fire, spooning in mouthfuls of stew in heavy silence. She had no appetite, but she fought off a wave of nausea and took a bite, her teeth tearing through a soggy mess of roots and greens. Zedd jabbered on about the progress they had made that day. It was a futile effort against the dreary mood that pervaded the camp night after night. Only Cara bothered to say anything in response, and she did little more than grunt her acknowledgment. Richard pushed at his stew with his spoon. Now and then, Kahlan caught him glancing her way, a haunted look in his eyes.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked at last, mostly to hear his voice. Richard lifted his head, giving a halfhearted shrug.

"Not so much," he said quietly. His eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, but even that brief connection hit her like a bolt from a crossbow.

She flinched and looked back down at her stew. "Right," she murmured. "Me too."

Though Zedd had made an effort with herbs and spices and a prized bit of rabbit, she found the smell of it about as appetizing as the rotting flesh of a baneling. Even one more bite held a very real chance of making her vomit. Zedd and Cara were busy with their meals, chewing noisily, spoons clinking against bowls, and Richard had resumed staring at his feet. Acting quickly, she slipped her bowl behind her back and poured what remained into a patch of underbrush.

She set the empty bowl to the side and twisted her hands together, trying not to think about her missing moon blood. The constant fear and worry were getting unbearable; she felt as if she was losing her mind. Kahlan brushed a hand across her churning stomach and decided she needed to at least know tonight.

They had passed a village earlier in the day's march, and if there was one thing every village had, it was a midwife. She would find her.

With her plan formed, the rest of the evening dragged endlessly on. Zedd talked too long by the fire. Richard and Cara took too long laying out bedrolls. But eventually, they all began settling for the night. Cara called first watch, pacing a circle through the towering maze of pines, tapping her Agiel against her thigh every other step. Kahlan lay down and drummed nervous fingers against the ground, waiting until Richard's breathing evened out and Zedd began to snore. As soon as they were both asleep, she bolted upright, reaching for her pack. Cara looked at her when she stood, but said nothing.

"My hair feels too dirty," she announced. "I'm going to go wash it at the stream before I sleep." It was easiest to lie to the one she liked least; still she held her breath until the Mord-Sith nodded her head.

"Suit yourself," said Cara without breaking her stride.

Kahlan hurried off towards the stream, but soon switched directions and broke into a run. She had to make it to the midwife's and back before Cara woke up one of the others to take second watch. The Mord-Sith might have accepted her lie, but she knew neither Zedd nor Richard would be fooled. They would want to know exactly where she'd been.

She forced herself to run faster, and by the time she reached the sleepy village, she was breathing hard, her brow damp with sweat. She stopped the first man she met. By the smell of his breath, he was on his way home from an evening at the tavern. He chuckled when she asked for the midwife, but after eyeing her up and down, he gave her directions to a house on the outskirts of town.

A strong wind had picked up, and a harsh, spitting rain began to fall. Kahlan drew her hood up against the storm as she thanked the man and raced down the wide, muddy street that cut through the village proper. Her belly felt tied in knots, and she tried not to imagine what Richard would say if he knew where she was. No doubt his dark eyes would fill with fresh guilt, and he would apologize again and again. She wanted him to be able to take her hand and tell her it would all be okay. Instead, she walked up to the midwife's small, weather beaten cottage alone, hands hanging empty at her sides.

She rapped her knuckles on the door, shouting to be heard above the rising howl of the wind. A light moved across the house's solitary windowpane, and a moment later, the door opened a crack.

"Who's there?" called an old woman, pressing the lantern she held up to the crack in the dark. Kahlan caught a glimpse of wild, white hair and a billowing white nightgown.

"Are you the midwife here?" She pushed back her hood so the old woman could see her face and hopefully find her none too threatening.

The woman considered her a moment, her expression softening some. "I am," she said. "Who are you?"

Kahlan hesitated, grateful that she had on her plain traveling clothes instead of her Confessor's dress. Rumors about the Mother Confessor being with child would spread all too quickly if she announced herself.

"Bah!" said the midwife when she stayed silent. "You don't stay a midwife long if you run your tongue about the women who come to your door, but no matter. Get in out of the wet!" She opened the door further and shuffled back to let her in.

Kahlan crossed the threshold and stood dripping water on the hardpacked floor. Above her, countless bundles of herbs hung drying in the rafters. Crucibles were piled high on the table, and jar after jar of mysterious liquids lined the shelf above the hearth. The air had a curious smell she could not identify, something sweet and strong. The midwife set her lantern down on the table and turned Kahlan around by the shoulders.

"Well aren't you a bedraggled little thing," she said, her green eyes surprisingly kind and surrounded by a fine web of wrinkles. "Here, have a sit down there." She urged her towards a rocking chair by the fire, and Kahlan sank into it without protest. Outside, the wind still moaned, but her back began to warm from the heat of the cheery, flickering flames. The old woman dragged a three-legged stool over and perched across from her, the voluminous folds of her nightgown nearly swallowing her whole.

She leaned forward, resting bony elbows on bony knees. "My name's Jara," she said. "Now, do you want to tell me what's been done to you?"

"Done to me?" echoed Kahlan.

Jara gave her a knowing look. "The only girls who come knocking on my door alone in the dead of night are ones who've had a man do them harm, in one way or another."

"Oh…" Kahlan pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with unexpected tears. She could not imagine Richard ever doing harm to her. Not the real Richard. But that day was seared into her mind. She could recall in perfect clarity how he'd looked down at her without a trace of his love for her in his eyes, as he forced himself inside her for the first time. And now he was afraid to look at her at all.

She clenched her hands into fists so tight they left rows of crescent moons across her palms. It wasn't fair. She could deal with her memories; she would master them eventually. Already she had recovered from the physical pain she'd endured that day. But what hurt far worse – and didn't go away – was the haunted look that had taken over Richard's eyes, and the knowledge that she had helped put it there.

She had gone over the events of that day a thousand times, analyzing all the ways she could have done or said something differently, something to keep them from what had happened. Drawing a shaky breath, she looked over at Jara still sitting on her stool, watchful and waiting. "Please," she said, and her voice trembled too much for her liking. "I don't want to talk about it."

Jara seemed unsurprised. Reaching out, she squeezed Kahlan's shoulder with a spindly hand. "Take a breath then," she said and got to her feet. "You need a potion made to shed the child?"

Kahlan's mouth fell open a little. "No, I…" She hadn't considered that, though it would make everything so much easier. But she couldn't. Not when she was the last Confessor. Not when the child she carried was Richard's. If she even carried a child. Jara was studying her with a puzzled frown on her wrinkly face, so she went on, stammering, "I don't want to shed the child. I mean, if I am with child. I think I am, but I don't…I don't know," she admitted, her cheeks burning in a crush of shame and embarrassment. And her mother was dead and her sister. She had no one else left she could ask. Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists again to still them.

Jara clucked her tongue against her teeth, and began fussing with a kettle on the hearth. "How late is your moon blood?"

"Three weeks," said Kahlan quietly. "Nearly four."

The old woman nodded her head of wild, white hair, but said nothing. She returned a short while later, pressing a mug of strong smelling tea into her hands. "What is this?" she asked, sniffing at the dark brown liquid.

"Mayroot," said Jara. "Drink up. It'll settle that upset stomach of yours." Kahlan looked up in surprise – she had said nothing of her nausea. "Bah," said the old woman dismissively as if she could read her thoughts. "I've been a midwife since I was younger than you, and my mother was a midwife before me. All those years have taught me how to spot a thing or two. Now drink up," she urged again, and Kahlan took a tentative sip.

The tea was pleasantly warm and tasted light and sweet. As she drank it, she found it did just as Jara promised. Her churning stomach began to settle, and the constant urge to vomit faded away. Jara took up her stool again and, leaning forward, asked her question after question as she drank her tea. Whether she was tired and when she felt tired, which foods no longer tasted good, and if grass smelled different now. The questions kept coming one after another until she had drained her mug. When it was empty, the old midwife made her stand up and prodded at her belly with a weathered, age spotted hand. She nodded abruptly and took Kahlan's mug from her, depositing it on the table with a heavy clunk.

"Well?" breathed Kahlan. The beating of her heart seemed suddenly very loud.

"Yes," said Jara as she turned back around. "You're with child."

"Okay," she nodded. "Okay…" She couldn't say she was surprised, but for some reason the news left her feeling faint. "I'm with child…" She shook her head, swaying a little on her feet.

"Sit back down before you drop," Jara said and nudged her into the rocking chair. Kahlan did as she was told, settling a hand over her stomach where Richard's child grew. Her eyes filled with tears, and she stared past the midwife, seeing nothing. Jara resettled on her stool, tucking in the folds of her white nightgown around her legs. "You safe enough from the man who forced you?" she asked, and Kahlan felt a dull sense of marvel at how the woman could tell so much from the things she didn't say.

"Yes," she said softly. "He's gone." And he was gone. Richard was no longer confessed. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Richard always lit up around children. He could love their daughter. She had to believe he could despite how she'd been made.

"Do you need to stay the night?" continued Jara. "I have a straw pallet in the next room."

"No," said Kahlan, springing suddenly to her feet. She'd forgotten all about her lie to Cara. She looked out the window at the dark night sky in a rising panic. "No, I have to go! I have to get back before I'm missed." If Cara hadn't already decided it was absurd that she was away so long washing her hair in the rain and woken the others. She thrust a hand into her coin purse as she headed for the door. "Thank you," she said. "How much do I owe you?"

"For a mug of tea and keeping an old woman company with a bit of conversation? Bah! Nothing. Go on your way and be well, child," said Jara, walking with her to the door.

"Thank you," said Kahlan again. Jara just nodded her out into the night.

The rain had mostly let up, and Kahlan took off at a run, her boots squelching in the mud. It was something of a relief to run. The ground flying past her feet as she pushed herself faster and faster left her with little energy to think of what would happen next. Of how things would change when the others learned she was with child. All she could concentrate on was putting one leg in front of the other as swiftly as she could until her muscles burned and her heart pounded furiously. She burst into camp haggard and breathless, struggling to walk slow and act calm.

She expected to find the others in an uproar, alarmed by her disappearance for half the night, and wanting to know just where she'd been. But Richard and Zedd were sleeping still. Cara still paced in front of the fire though it was well past time for the second watch to take over.

"I see you washed your hair," said Cara in a dry voice as she took in her tangled, windblown locks.

"Yes," gasped Kahlan, clutching at a stitch in her side. She could tell that Cara wasn't the least bit fooled by her story. The thick pine branches overhead had sheltered the camp from the passing storm, but Cara wouldn't have missed the sound of rain. Not to mention that no one returned from a bath sweaty and mud splattered. Still, the Mord-Sith didn't push for the real explanation.

"Thank you, Cara," she said breathlessly. She doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees as she sucked in air. It struck her that the Mord-Sith had been covering for her deliberately all along. If she'd truly believed the story about hair washing, she would have woken the others when she failed to return in a reasonable amount of time. Either that or she hated Confessors so much that she didn't care if she fell in the creek and drowned.

Before she could put her muddled realization into a question, Cara flopped down on her bedroll, scowling up at her from her back. "It's your watch," she said flatly and closed her eyes.

Kahlan nodded and collapsed by the fire, still panting hard. The straps of her pack had dug angry, red grooves into her shoulders as she ran. She eased the pack off, rubbing at the raw skin until the marks faded some. As the silence of the camp at night took over, her thoughts began to churn. Dear spirits, she was with child. The news seemed to keep her heart permanently lodged in her throat.

She brushed a hand against her abdomen, letting her gaze flit to where Richard slept. She studied the face of the man she'd forgotten how to talk to as she tried out the words in her mind. Father of her child.

* * *

_Also, I've made a twitter, __morgenwrites__, mostly so I could help trend #LegendoftheSeeker. But I also tweet about how the story's coming along, so if you're wondering when the next chapter will be up, you can always check there. For, you know, updates on when there will be updates. XD Hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	5. Fragile

**V. FRAGILE**

Richard jolted awake and lay still, trying to decide what had torn him from his slumber. The woods were silent, and thick, gray fog hung like a gloomy blanket over the ground. He judged it to be very early. There was a faint lightness to the east, nothing more, and Zedd sounded to be still in the midst of some of his heaviest snores.

Untangling from his covers, he sat up to find that Kahlan was gone again. Lately, she had begun to claim last watch each night, and was often gone from the camp when he awoke. It made him uneasy, her alone in the woods, but she always returned with fresh firewood or water or some berries for breakfast just as the sun was painting the sky in ribbons of pink and gold. In the past, he would have teased her and asked her a question about where she went so early in the morning without him. Now all he could do was be glad she came back.

Something troubled him though about her empty bedroll, and he frowned at it, his thoughts still slow and sluggish. Yawning, he scrubbed his hands over his face and then back through his disheveled hair, fighting against the lingering film of sleep that dulled his mind. He never woke up rested anymore. Not now that every other night brought dreams of what he'd done to her. There could be no peace when Kahlan wept.

Bleary eyed, he sat there awhile longer and, another enormous yawn later, it hit him. It was the fact that her bedroll was there at all. Most mornings he awoke to find it already neatly rolled away. But there it lay, and terribly rumpled at that, as if she had leapt from it in a tremendous hurry.

He hauled himself to his feet, stretching out sore muscles as he stood, and picked his way around Cara's sleeping form to kneel beside the abandoned blankets. They were still warm to the touch. She had not been gone long, and he bowed his head at the realization; it had been her leaving that had roused him. Richard closed his eyes, trying not to surrender to the steady ache in his chest. But the lingering warmth of her blankets was as near as he came to her these days.

He worried that she feared him now, and so he tried to give her space. Zedd offered him encouragement, promising that with time, it would all work out. His grandfather meant well, he knew, but every word of advice only twisted something inside him into anger. He had begun resorting to silently listing all the trails around Hartland in alphabetical order just to keep from snapping back. After all, what woman wouldn't fear the man who'd taken her against her will? Wouldn't hate him? That she remained at his side said nothing about him. Kahlan stayed for the quest.

A bitter voice inside his head reminded him that that too was his fault; he had been the one to tear the veil. Richard straightened up and shuffled over to the remnants of the fire. If he got breakfast going before the others woke, they could at least get an early start and cover more ground in the search for the stone. One foot in front of the other all day long. He followed the compass; it was the only thing left he could still do. The only plan he bothered to make anymore.

Crouching over the dying embers, he was about to begin prodding them with a stick when he heard a weak, whimpering sound somewhere behind him. Surprised, he twisted around and tried to see past the fog choked trees that ringed the camp. All was gray mist and obscurity. He couldn't see much further than the tip of his nose.

Kahlan's bedroll lay close by, tangled and abandoned – a troubling reminder that something was not quite right – and he straightened up, calling softly for her. There was no answer. Richard stole to the edge of the camp, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His heart hammering against his ribcage, he listened to the silence and the slow drip of early morning dew drops, straining his ears for any sign of danger. A faint cough came from the same direction as the whimper, followed by what he swore sounded like someone retching.

"Kahlan?" he called again, louder this time.

She didn't answer.

Forgetting everything save for his worry for her, Richard hurried through the dense fog, running towards the sound. He didn't have to go far before he came across her doubled over on her knees. One arm was wrapped around her stomach, the other holding her weight up as she vomited, her fingers digging into the damp earth for support. "Kahlan," he murmured, dropping down beside her without a second thought.

He pulled her long hair out of the way and ran a hand down her back. She trembled violently beneath his palm. It struck him that this was the most he'd touched her since he'd been confessed, and his hands froze, suddenly unsure of their place. He let go as she shuddered to a stop and straightened some, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her hair was wild; her face white. Dark shadows hung beneath her blue eyes.

"You're ill?" he asked. The crisp morning air now smelled like a sick house, and she looked about to collapse.

But Kahlan shook her head and reached for an exposed tree root with a trembling hand, gripping it to pull herself back to standing. The sight of her so unsteady forced him to ignore his own apprehension, and he took a gentle hold of her elbow, easing her to her feet. He let go again as soon as she was upright in case she didn't want him touching her, but Kahlan made no mention of it. She had one of their waterskins with her, and she took a drink from it, turning away as she swished the water in her mouth and spat it on the ground.

Slinging the strap to the waterskin back over her shoulder, Kahlan started walking deeper into the woods. He hesitated a moment, and then went after her. Her movements were cautious and slow, and in a few strides, he'd caught up with her again. "You look ill," he insisted, unable to simply shrug off his concern. He'd never seen her look so pale.

Kahlan stopped abruptly and stared off through the gray morning in the direction of the camp. He stopped beside her, standing still in the forest and the fog, waiting. It had been a long time since they had been so alone, and he couldn't help but stare at the shape of her mouth, at the tiny, delicate shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks. Even as sickly and disheveled as she was, he still found her beauty overwhelming.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Can Zedd heal you? We don't have to travel today. We can take a day off, and you can rest."

"Zedd can't heal me," she said in a strange, hoarse voice, and when she finally looked back at him, he found tears glimmering in her eyes.

"Why? Kahlan, what is it?" He felt too scared to breathe. His mind raced over a long list of plagues both common and rare; she'd been this weak the time she nearly died from the Fire Fever. "What's happened? I can find you a healer. Please, tell me."

She shook her head, whispering, "No." A lone tear escaped to spill down her cheek. "I'm not ill, Richard…" His name left her lips as a faint, mournful wail, and she trembled when she met his eyes. "I'm with child."

His jaw went slack, and he nearly choked on the words. "With child?" he echoed. Before being confessed by Annabelle, he'd always imagined having a child with Kahlan would make him happier than anything else could. A part of him he thought had died that day flickered faintly back to life like a candle not quite gone out, and he thought of picking her up in his arms, maybe spinning her around. And laughing. There should be laughing in delight over their child. But then he remembered how she'd wept beneath him, and all he managed was, "Are you certain?"

The hand hovering over her stomach clenched into a fist, and she pressed it harder against herself. "Very."

He nodded, not knowing what else to say. Her eyes still brimmed with tears, and when she blinked, another one started to fall. Hastily she brushed it away. "You're upset," he said. He wanted to beg her not to cry, but she shook her head.

"How can I be upset? It's why we…" Her voice wobbled, "Why I, why…in the first place."

"Right," he said, his tone seeped in bitterness as he remembered Annabelle's words to him. They were why he had memories of saying things to Kahlan, of doing things to her that nothing, not even a knife to his throat and the promise of death, could make him do. He remembered the eagerness he had felt to please his mistress, his desperation to do all that she asked. The gaping abyss of self-loathing that had promised to consume him if he failed in his task.

He had succeeded.

Their eyes met in silence, and all he saw there hurt and held him captivated. They turned away at the same time, as if it hurt as much for her as it did for him, and began walking farther from the little clearing where the others slept.

They had no destination that he knew of, but together they took a silent detour around an old tree trunk long tumbled to the ground. Dew drops hung from the fungus growing on its rotting bark. It was so quiet he could hear the whisper of her skirt brushing against the dried leaves, and he fumbled for something to say, "How long have you known?"

"Since we stopped outside Trenning Village," said Kahlan, her eyes trained on the ground. That had been nearly a week ago. And right before she'd begun to claim last watch each night. "But I suspected for awhile before that," she added, and by the heaviness to her voice he knew she'd been worrying a long time, all alone.

"Have you, um," he began, still finding it strange to speak to her without Zedd or Cara there. His tongue tripped on every word. But Kahlan lifted an expectant eyebrow and glanced his way and didn't seem to mind. He tried again, "Have you been getting sick all that time?"

She gave a slight shake of her head. "Not so much at first. It's been getting worse."

Richard stopped walking and turned to face her, his fingers ghosting over her arm before falling away. His skin tingled where it had touched the fluttering edge of her sleeve. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked. He hated the thought of her suffering by herself. If there was one thing he wanted for her, it was that she should never have to be alone. She had already endured more loneliness than most just for being born a Confessor.

Something rather like sorrow darkened the blue of her eyes. "We're supposed to be finding the Stone of Tears. I didn't want this to be a distraction. And everything's been so strange between us…" She looked away from him up at the towering trees to where the fog was beginning to lift. The sudden vulnerability in her voice nearly clawed his heart open, "I didn't know what to say, Richard."

"I know," he said, fidgeting with the leather bracer on his wrist. He'd been tongue-tied since the moment the quillion set him free. "I'm sorry."

Kahlan pushed her lips into a small, determined smile. "At least I won't be the last Confessor anymore."

No. There would be another. Their child. The reality nearly took him to his knees; Kahlan was going to bear his child.

Back in Hartland, it was understood that if a man got a woman with child, he wed her. If he didn't, he'd have her angry father, brothers and uncles all knocking down his door. He wondered how it worked in the Midlands. With the Mother Confessor. Kahlan had always claimed the two of them could never marry, but she hadn't been carrying his child then. He scuffed the toe of his boot against a loose patch of rock and watched the pebbles scatter, feeling every bit the unpolished woods guide from Westland.

"Kahlan?" She made a soft sound in answer, and he stumbled over his words, "Do you want to marry?" Her eyebrows shot straight up, and his heart began to beat too fast, as if planning an escape from his chest. He could feel his face heat. "I don't know, in the Midlands if…what's the proper thing to do, but I love you and—"

"I can't," she interrupted with a shake of her head. Her eyes were wet; the last of the color gone from her cheeks. "I can't marry you," she whispered. Kahlan pressed the back of her hand to her mouth a moment, squeezing her eyes shut. He felt like he was falling backwards off a cliff, his stomach in his throat. She kept talking and he fell further, "I thought you'd understand why now more than ever. You know what confession is like. How could I possibly be a wife to you?"

"I didn't mean…" He wouldn't be surprised if she never desired him again. "I wasn't trying to say we'd have to be together in that way. But, if we have a child together?"

She let out a thin little moan. "Please, can we talk about this some other time?"

"Sure," he said quietly, wishing he'd never said anything. Of course she didn't want to marry him now. Not after what he'd done. "Whatever you want, Kahlan." He glanced up from the rut he was working into the forest floor with the toe of his boot, wondering if he should offer to go away and leave her in peace. He had already done enough harm. But Kahlan stood stock still, a strange look passing across her face. She gripped the trunk of the nearest tree hard enough to turn her knuckles white, her other hand clutching at her stomach.

"Are you okay?" he asked in alarm.

She doubled over in answer, and he snatched her hair back just in time as she retched into a clump of dried grass at the base of the tree. He watched her, sick and miserable because of him, and wished that he could pull her into his arms and hold her like he used to, close enough to feel her heart beat. But when she stopped heaving and straightened up, his hands fell limp and useless to his sides. She sagged against the tree trunk and took a halfhearted sip of water.

"We should get back," she mumbled. "The sun's coming up."

But she stumbled twice before they made it so much as halfway to the campsite. Once over such a large, obvious root even a blind man could have avoided it, and the second time over nothing at all. He longed to carry her back to her bed. Instead, Richard shot her a pointed look and sat down on a log, sighing inwardly with relief when she settled beside him. After a moment, she let her eyes slip shut.

"I'll be all right soon," she said as if she could sense him fretting. "It's always worst when I first wake. That's why I get up so early."

They'd passed a wild pear tree a while back, but when he offered to go get her some to give her back her strength, Kahlan only groaned, waving the idea away. She seemed too tired to talk, and he didn't know what else to say anyway, so he sat there feeling useless. Kahlan was having his child, but she didn't want to wed him, and he couldn't think about that much without feeling like he had a hole in his chest. Now she didn't even want him to fetch her anything. He stared down at her stomach, feeling such a strange mix of sorrow and wonder that he found it hard to breathe.

"Isn't there anything I can do?" he said at last.

Kahlan eyes fluttered open slightly, and she looked at him through slits of blue. "Just sit here with me? A little longer?" she asked, tentative as a footstep on fragile ice, as if she feared he would say no. He couldn't manage any words around the sudden lump in his throat, but he nodded his head and stayed beside her. She smiled then – a shy, hopeful twist of the lips – and leaned to the right, her shoulder coming to rest against his.


	6. Descry

**VI. DESCRY**

"I know this stream," said Zedd, his eyes narrowing as he studied the shallow, swift moving waters. "It flows right to Agaden Reach." He scowled, hitching up his robes to step over a long, thick vine. The vines had been slowly encroaching on the path all morning, a nuisance that slowed their travel. "Are you sure that compass is pointing east?" he asked, heading for Richard wearing a determined expression.

Richard was sure, but he obliged his grandfather and pulled out the compass again. Instead of the dancing blue lights that indicated a new bearing, the stone's glow held steady. "Still east," he said. It had been guiding them east for two day's now, but Zedd had never questioned it before. "Actually," he added as he took another look at their surroundings. "We should probably cross the stream. The path looks better over there too." It was free of tangled vines and undergrowth and appeared well used, with a fine, flat trail that ran alongside the water. Kahlan would have an easier time walking there. But Zedd leaned over his shoulder, peering down at the compass and muttering under his breath.

He raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Zedd?"

"Well, I…" Zedd fussed with the front of his robes, smoothing them needlessly. "I see no reason to cross the stream, that's all," he said in an odd, uneasy voice. "Shota makes her home in Agaden Reach, and I've had enough of that witch woman's meddling ways. Besides, you know how I hate getting my feet wet!"

Richard almost snapped that he'd have to put up with wet ankles so Kahlan could walk on the easier path, but caught himself just in time. She had asked him not to say anything about the child to Zedd or Cara, claiming that she'd have to tell them soon enough. He heaved a frustrated sigh and glanced her way, watching her struggle along in the back. He knew firsthand just how exhausted she was.

Ever since that first morning, he had taken to rising early with her. It had been brutally awkward the first few days, but leaving her to suffer alone while he rested was never an option, no matter how much they both stared at the ground and stumbled over their words. He told himself he would only stop if Kahlan asked him to, and she never did.

Occasionally, he could convince her to go back to sleep, and let him stand watch in her stead, so long as he promised to wake her well before the others. It left him twice as tired as he'd been before, but he could tell by the shadows forever lurking beneath her eyes that it was nothing compared to what her body was putting her through. He held her hair for her when she was ill, and, when she refused to sleep, they sat with their backs to the dwindling fire and waited for the dawn.

Mostly they sat in silence. Now and then he mentioned safe, simple things. Like whether she was hungry that day. Or whether there would be sun or rain, and which way the compass might lead. It was never what he truly wanted to say, but she would always answer, her voice soft and close and so familiar. It felt rather like they were learning to talk to each other again. And, rough and raw as it was, he'd come to love the pale, quiet hour before the dawn, when everything was dew stained and shadowed blue, the faint imprint of the moon still fading from the sky.

Richard let his mind race though sometimes, imagining what life would be like if it didn't strangle something inside him to remember how they'd conceived their child. If every conversation they had wasn't still brimming with awkward pauses and painful silence. If they were just two ordinary people free to love and marry as they wished. But the sun would always rise and the others would wake, and by the light of day he couldn't pretend otherwise. They were the Seeker and the Mother Confessor. They acknowledged nothing more. Not even that she had been unable to keep any food down that morning and could use an easier path.

He looked wistfully across the stream at the smooth stretch of trail awaiting them. "The way is better there," he said, hoping Zedd would listen to reason without using Kahlan's name. "We'll make better time." But his grandfather just frowned at the compass, a stubborn expression squashed on his face. He sighed and tried again, "I know she can be meddlesome, Zedd, but Shota's not an enemy. We can tell her we have no interest in her visions."

The old wizard's bushy eyebrows twitched, "But why go inviting trouble when we can just as easily walk around this sleeping dragon? We can still head east from this side of the stream and avoid Agaden Reach."

"Zedd's right," Kahlan broke in as she caught up with them. "We shouldn't cross." Her voice was tense and tinged with fear, and he was reminded of how she'd reacted the last time Shota shared a vision with them. Kahlan did not take prophecy lightly. It was enough to decide the matter for him, and Richard snapped the compass shut.

He'd wanted to cross for her sake; there was no point in arguing further when she wanted the opposite. "Alright," he relented. "We'll keep going."

But the path only became more overgrown as the day wore on. Richard stalked out in front, hacking at the vines with his sword to clear a path for the others. Zedd couldn't use magic to do it – he claimed even a simple spark would alert Shota to their presence better than if they came waving flags and blowing horns to announce their arrival. His muscles ached from the tedious task, and Richard paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. Though the nights had turned cool, the midday sun had not yet given up all of summer's heat. It beat down on his shoulders as he pulled out his waterskin and took a drink. The water tasted warm and unpleasant in his mouth.

"Let's take a quick break," he called back to the others. "I want some fresh water."

No one protested. He imagined Cara had to be baking in her leather, and the heat was causing the hair framing Kahlan's face to curl up in ringlets. Zedd leaned against a tree, fanning himself with a long, gnarled hand and casting glances at the opposite shore that Richard assumed were meant to be furtive, though he didn't know why. He collected all the waterskins and fought his way down to the bank, vines like snakes around his legs.

When he reached it, he found the stream was noisy and cool, water laughing merrily as it rushed over the rocks. Richard knelt and splashed his face, washing away some of the dirt and the grime while leaves swept past with the current like tiny golden boats. He lingered there, taking his time filling the waterskins so Kahlan could have longer to rest. But all too soon Zedd called down, chuckling as he asked if he'd fallen in. Richard bit back a sharp retort and trudged up the bank without sharing in his humor – lately it had become a struggle not to get annoyed at everything his grandfather said and did.

They had only been walking again a short while when something strange passed through the air – like a breeze, yet different, more substantial somehow. Richard stopped short, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword as his senses all intensified. Kahlan and Cara looked at him as they too reached hands for their weapons, but Zedd stayed staring straight ahead, his long nose wrinkling as a frown drew down his brow.

A thick whisper ran through the grasses and bent them low. Richard watched the view in front of him waver, turning almost smeared as if he looked down the path through a greasy windowpane. His skin tingled with that strange sensation that always meant magic, and he tried to remember what it had felt like right before the screeling attacked. Before he could draw his sword, Zedd huffed and crossed his bony arms over his chest.

"Smells like a witch woman," he grumbled. "Shota! Show yourself!"

The canopy of leaves danced overhead, and Shota stepped out from behind a slender elm, silent as a shadow. Her auburn hair ran in ripples over a long, dark dress that flowed to the ground. She gave them all a slow, creeping smile. "You always know just how to greet old friends, Zeddicus."

Zedd shifted his weight from foot to foot, scowling down at her. "I'm not so certain we're friends," he said.

She raised a shoulder in a delicate shrug, "There are many words I could use instead to describe you and I, if you would prefer another. Shall I list them?"

Zedd's face reddened, and he looked a breath away from an angry tirade. Richard jumped forward. It would be best to cut the reunion short. "Just state your business, Shota," he said. "We're in a hurry."

Her eyes swung straight to where the Sword of Truth hung at his hip. "Still every bit the Seeker, I see. Patience." She smiled again, languid as a stretching cat, and turned back to Zedd. "You have persisted in ignoring my vision, Zeddicus."

"What vision?" asked Kahlan loudly. Richard could feel her alarm, sharp and discordant like the screech of metal. "Zedd, what is she talking about?" The wizard opened his mouth but said nothing, looking torn between frustration and embarrassment. Here at least was the reason behind his sudden distaste for Agaden Reach.

Shota's eyes lit up like a lightning strike. "You haven't told them?" she hissed.

"Told us what?" said Richard, stepping closer to the witch woman and the hazy cocoon of power that radiated from her. Cara moved forward too, keeping herself between them like a human shield. He almost pulled her back before remembering Mord-Sith were meant to be exactly that against magic.

"I hope you don't mind that I tell them," said Shota to Zedd in a voice that made it quite plain she would continue either way.

Zedd gray eyes darkened like thunderclouds. "Have it your way, Shota," he said. "You always do."

Her long ripples of hair fluttered on a sudden breeze, and she gave him a sad, weary smile. "I hope one day you will understand that my way is what is best for the world of life. Until then…" She turned away from Zedd, and Richard found himself looking straight into her eerie, almond eyes. "I am sorry, Richard Rahl," she said quietly. "No doubt your grandfather thought to protect your feelings because of his fondness for you. Understandable for an old man, perhaps. But not for a Wizard of the First Order."

A hush fell over the path as Shota paused a moment, seeming to thrive on the way they all stared at her in silence, her captive audience. Richard waited despite himself for what she would say next, and when she went on, her voice was smooth and powerful, dwindling the rush of babbling water down to nothing at all. "Nearly three months ago, I had a vision that you will fail in your quest to defeat the Keeper."

"What?" cried Kahlan indignantly. "That's not possible! Richard is the Seeker!"

Shota scoffed and let out a tinkle of haughty laughter, "And because you love him, he must be infallible? Do not be so foolish, Mother Confessor. I have seen it. He will fail to find the Stone of Tears."

Kahlan twisted around to look at him, silently entreating him to say something. He could see the worry already welling up in her eyes just because the witch woman called her opinion prophecy. Gritting his teeth, Richard held back a frustrated sigh; there was no greater waste of time than prophecy. He could fail for countless reasons, but not simply because Shota said he would.

He cleared his throat, "You're here to advise me to abandon my quest?"

"You must." Shota stepped closer only to be stopped by a warning tilt of Cara's head that reminded him of nothing so much as a snake about to strike. "You must give up the Sword of Truth so that a new Seeker can be named. We are fortunate – I should be able to find just such a man in my visions." Her words snagged in his mind; Shota would love the chance to name her champion.

"I don't believe you," he said, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. "And nothing you could say will change my mind. I don't believe in prophecy."

She bristled visibly. "All you need to do is foolishly claim that you do not believe in prophecy, and it stops existing? You are that arrogant?" she demanded, advancing on him like a cat drawing her claws. "Has your Rahl blood given you such a mistaken belief in your own importance?" Her voice turned mocking, her words cutting into him as surely as any blade, "The mighty Richard Rahl stands before us a perfect man who cannot fail in his quest the way other, lesser men might do."

The memory of pinning Kahlan to the ground and keeping her there with his weight came rushing to the surface at her words, and Richard tightened his grip on the sword, taking shelter in the angry, almost painful thrum of magic leaking into him. He wondered vaguely if it was the same for Cara and her Agiels. "I have no mistaken belief in my perfection," he said in a low voice. "If Zedd wishes to name a new Seeker, I will give up the sword and do what I can to help the one he names in my place. But I will not abandon my quest because of something you saw in a pond."

"Then you are a fool," hissed Shota. "You will doom all life to the Keeper because of your pride! Zeddicus!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his grandfather shake his head. His voice was calm and steady against the tempest of emotions the witch woman rode. "I'm not naming a new Seeker."

"It's settled then," said Richard hastily, eager to be far away from her wrath. "Let us pass. You have said what you came to say, and we have not crossed into your land." He felt a sudden surge of gratitude towards Zedd for keeping them from the other shore. The air crackled with the threat of the witch woman's magic, and something told him it would be twice as hard to leave were they to have set foot inside Agaden Reach.

But Shota did not move. "I have not yet begun," she said in a soft, dangerous voice. "I had already given the wizard my warning about your quest. We must wait and hope you realize the truth before it's too late and the world of the living ends. But I did not come this way to waste my breath giving the same warning twice. I have but recently had another vision and thought to find you." She gave a slight tilt of her head, "How fortunate that you are here now."

Richard frowned, "I'm not interested in more of your visions, Shota. You still waste your breath."

"I think not," she said calmly. He caught the brief flicker of her eyes towards Kahlan. "I think this time, Seeker, you will be very interested." A knowing smile spread across her face and left him cold. "It concerns the Mother Confessor's child."

* * *

_OK, brief PSA type thing. If you're reading this story, you're obviously a fan of Legend of the Seeker, and you most likely know that the show is in danger of not being renewed for a third season. (A travesty, I know.) If this is news to you though, please head on over to SaveOurSeeker (dot) com (there's a link to it in my profile if you're lazy) and get involved with one or two or all of the things we fans are doing to try and keep the show alive. And if you're already involved, thanks for being awesome! And send out another letter! It'd make me a thousand times happier if you sent ABC/Disney a letter asking for a third season than if you left me a review, and everyone knows how much fic writers looove reviews. So, go send more letters! Thanks for reading!_


	7. Hunted

**VII. HUNTED**

Kahlan stood frozen as the others turned her way. Shota had an uncanny, faraway look in her eyes that she had no desire to explore. Richard looked angry and dangerous and about two steps away from putting his arm around her. She drew some comfort from that and glanced at the remaining two. Cara's face showed no surprise. The Mord-Sith woke earlier than Zedd, occasionally to see her and Richard still seated close together and dealing in whispers. She knew Cara at least suspected something, and had come to feel an odd sense of gratitude to her for not pushing the subject in her usual, blunt manner. It was an emotion she'd never imagined feeling for the woman who'd killed Dennee, always catching her off guard, each little twinge of gratitude coming hand in hand with a great deal of guilt.

Zedd, however, just looked baffled and indignant. He scowled at Shota as if he somehow held the upper hand. "I think we would know by now if the Mother Confessor were with child!" he declared.

Kahlan felt her cheeks burn. Of all the ways to share the news, this had to be the worst. Her voice sounded very small to her ears, "Actually, Zedd, I am."

"Oh." His thick, white brows shot upwards. "Oh, I see."

"Yes…" She twisted her hands together, wishing there was a way to wipe the hot, embarrassed blush from her face. Worse than that, though, was the icy dread settling in the pit of her stomach. As much as she wanted to, she could never shrug her shoulders at prophecy the way Richard did. And whatever Shota had come to say could hardly be pleasant – no premonitions that she would bear a pretty girl with Richard's eyes. The air felt much too sinister for that.

As if he could sense her unease, Richard stepped closer, putting himself between her and the witch woman. "What vision have you had now, Shota?" He spat the words out. It was impossible to miss the fury of the Sword of Truth coursing behind them, but Shota seemed unruffled.

"So it is true," she said with a satisfied smile. "I almost doubted my own gift when I saw you were not confessed, but it is your child after all, that much is obvious." Her tone turned curious, "You found a way past her magic? I didn't know such a thing could be done…"

Richard remained silent, and Kahlan thanked the spirits she could not see his eyes in that moment. She knew the pain she would find there.

"A rada'han, then?" continued Shota when the silence only lingered and grew. "I would have thought that beneath your sense of honor, Seeker. To choke off her power like she is some beast in need of taming."

His shoulders slumped at that. Even the air around him seemed defeated. Kahlan glared at Shota, shaking with silent fury as she struggled for something to say about the thing they did not speak of. Guilt and grief tangled like knots on the tip of her tongue. That day was her doing, not his. Yet, because of her, she knew Richard would let Shota say whatever she pleased about him, without one word to defend himself.

It was Cara who spoke before she could, her Agiel shooting out to hover just above the hollow of the witch woman's throat. "Get to your vision," she warned. "Before I decide you are better off without your tongue."

Shota flinched at the threat, and Kahlan felt another muddled burst of gratitude towards the Mord-Sith. Keeping an eye to the outstretched Agiel, Shota gave a slight nod. "A child born of the union of Seeker and Mother Confessor would be very powerful," she said solemnly. "Especially a Seeker with both Rahl and Zorander blood in his veins. Never before has the world known a child of such tremendous possibility. I have seen how the Keeper already lusts for its soul."

The blazing sun overhead no longer did anything to warm her, and Kahlan's hand dropped down to clutch at her belly. "How can the Keeper already know?" she demanded. "I've told no one but Richard!"

"I knew," said Shota. "And I am not the only one gifted with foresight. The Keeper has many servants who deal in visions and prophecy. Word of your child will soon spread like wildfire. And if the Keeper gains this child's soul, all is lost."

"You say _'if_,_'_" said Richard. "Then you are not certain that he will."

"It is a possible future. The prophecy that came to me was forked."

"Tell me," he said in a rough voice. "All of it."

Shota glanced at the Agiel Cara still held waiting by her throat. "If you get your Mord-Sith to put her weapon down…"

"Cara," he said, hardly bothering to gentle his tone. Kahlan could not remember ever seeing him so angry, though she was glad he was speaking. She seemed to have forgotten how. Her hand trembled against her stomach.

Cara did as she was ordered and lowered her Agiel, though she kept it in her fist, ready to rise up again at the slightest provaucation.

"That's better," said Shota with a satisfied twist of a smile. She composed herself, her voice changing and becoming as faraway as her eyes. "Very well, Richard Rahl. These are the words of the prophecy as they came to me." When she spoke again, it seemed to Kahlan that her voice came from somewhere beyond the depths of time.

"The Keeper's daughters hunt the one conceived in sorrow – child of love and fury – for their master lusts for its soul. If he gains it, the one in white will perish and all life shall follow her. But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living."

Shota fell silent, but the words lingered louder than a scream. She turned away from Richard, the dark, fathomless pools of her eyes fixating on Kahlan instead. They seemed to bore right through her. "Could it be plainer?" she asked.

Kahlan shook her head, struggling to think beyond the bitter mess of prophecy. _If the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead… _The world of the dead. Dead. Richard would be dead. The nightmare echoed over and over inside her head, but Shota kept talking.

"You have the power of love, Mother Confessor. Twisted and all consuming as it is, it is still love. And he, through that sword of his, has the power of fury, to fight with the strength and anger of many men." Shota wavered in front of her, and she realized with a distant sort of awareness that her cheeks were damp. She couldn't remember when she'd begun to cry. "The sorrow I spoke of perhaps only you can explain, but you carry his child, do you not?"

Somehow, she managed to speak. "I do," she whispered. She wanted to grab Richard and cling to him with all the strength that she had. He couldn't be given to the world of the dead. She couldn't lose him. Not after they had suffered through so much. "Richard isn't going to die!" she blurted out, her voice hot with defiance, yet wilted and weepy like a stubborn child.

He turned to face her, closing the distance in a rush as if her tears pained him. He took a hold of her arm, which was far more than he usually allowed himself. She wished he would crush her to his chest instead. "No," he agreed. "Not at her word, I'm not. Think about it, Kahlan. She's a witch woman. She has the power of prophecy. Not the power to strike me down where I stand."

Kahlan nodded, but all she heard was Richard finally granting Shota the power of prophecy. He looked past her, his voice hardening, "Who are the Keeper's daughters?"

"I don't know," said Shota. She clasped her hands together. "It was not revealed to me in the prophecy. But I do know that the Keeper grows stronger every day the veil remains torn." Her body was taut with urgency, and she drew nearer to him, "You see now, why we must act quickly? I must find you a new Seeker, so that he can search for the Stone of Tears and defeat the Keeper." She heaved a heavy, forlorn sigh, "I am sorry, Richard Rahl. You do your part for the world, but it is in sacrifice, not a quest."

Kahlan shivered – the trembling running deep through the marrow of her bones. In a flash of desperation, she imagined confessing the witch woman and silencing her that way. But Richard's thumb kept working back and forth across her forearm in reassuring sweeps, and she kept a hold on her power though it twisted through her, begging for release. He glared at Shota; his tone held a ring of warning like the Sword of Truth unsheathed, "And the rest of your scheme? Out with it." Kahlan blinked. She could not imagine what more there could possibly be.

To her surprise, a faint look of embarrassment crossed Shota's face. "Very well," she said. "I came to offer my home to shelter the Mother Confessor, and her child, when it comes. They would be safe in Agaden Reach." She tilted her head towards Zedd, adding, "No one can draw near without my knowledge."

"No!" said Kahlan at once. "I will not stay here. Not with her!" She wanted nothing to do with the woman who promised Richard's death as the hope of the world. He gave her arm a silent squeeze.

"I thought it would be something like that," he said to Shota in a voice of eerie calm that seemed to still even the leaves on the trees. Kahlan looked down and saw that his other hand gripped his sword, his knuckles white around the hilt. "Thank you for your words of warning," he continued. "We will consider them. Now kindly get out of our way."

Shota straightened up, her eyes flashing, "You are going to ignore this vision too, even though it concerns her life? Your child's life?"

Richard shook his head, "I am quite prepared to die for her – for them – should it be necessary. But even if Kahlan wished to stay with you, I would beg her to reconsider."

"Then the world of the living is doomed," said Shota in a sharp hiss.

"The world of the living is doomed unless the Mother Confessor becomes your house guest?" said Richard. "Was that in your vision too? Speak quickly. I'm in no mood for more of your riddles."

Kahlan listened in stunned silence. Even the birds had quieted overhead as if they too could sense the magic of his sword hung like a cloak around him, some darker thing spilling into his dark eyes. She had never seen him quite like this before – his voice dancing along a line of barely restrained fury even as his hand remained the gentlest thing on her arm.

"It was not in my vision," said Shota, and she seemed to shrink a little with the words. "But it's sound reason. I want to help. I fear for the world! Don't you at least fear the torment the Keeper has in store for you if he succeeds?"

"No," growled Richard. "Our child was conceived in sorrow. You said as much yourself. The Keeper can imagine no greater agony for me than what I already endure. Now get out of my way before I change my mind and let Cara do to you as she wishes. I will not ask you again."

Shota looked at him sadly, "May the Creator grant you understanding then, before it is too late for us all. I know I have done my best." With a flourish of her arm, she vanished from view, leaving the path tangled but empty before them. There was no sound save for a disappointed sigh from the Mord-Sith.


	8. Undone

They did not stop until nightfall. Though nothing was said, it seemed they'd reached a silent consensus to put as much ground between them and the witch woman as possible. But when the sun at last disappeared over the horizon, they settled on a sheltered grove and dropped their packs to the hard earth. Kahlan began to gather firewood when Zedd stopped her with a shake of his head and a quiet, "Rest, child. You must be tired."

She started to protest, but then Richard said, "Sit down, Kahlan," in such a pleading voice that she couldn't help but give in. He draped a blanket over her shoulders and moved off to gather firewood in her stead.

Kahlan tugged the soft, worn edges of the blanket close around her. She was more grateful for the chance to sit down than she wanted to admit. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, and it was only a cold sense of apprehension that kept her awake now that she had finally stopped moving. She'd dreaded telling Zedd and Cara she was with child because of the conversation she knew would happen as soon as they all gathered round the fire. Zedd would want to send her away, most likely back to Aydindril, where she would be out of harm's way. But if she had hated the thought of leaving Richard before, she could not bear it now. Not when his very life was in danger because of her.

When the fire at last crackled to life and set patterns of light and shadow to dancing on their faces, they passed around apples and now toughened bread they'd bought from a peddler a few days back. No one seemed in the mood to go hunting and Kahlan didn't mind – she had no appetite. But she felt Richard's eyes worrying over her and began to pick halfheartedly at her portion of the bread.

One of the logs popped, sending off a shower of golden sparks. Richard cleared his throat, turning towards Zedd. The orange glow of firelight caressed his profile. "If you feared telling me you want to name a new Seeker, you shouldn't have," he said quietly. "I meant what I said. I'll give up the sword and do what I can to help the next one." But his hand caressed the hilt of his sword as he spoke. Though she could see he did not lie, Kahlan thought it would cost him more to give up the Sword of Truth than he realized. If he could ever truly give it up. It seemed as much a part of him as her Confessor's magic was of her. Shota's words replayed in her mind – the one bound to the blade would die. She shivered and pulled the blanket closer still.

Zedd was shaking his head, "I did not keep silent because I feared it was true. I kept silent because I didn't want to plant doubts in your head. Name a new Seeker?" He snorted. "I'd have to be a fool to do that after you went toe to toe with a witch woman and kept your head. That is no easy task." He stretched his long limbs, the bones in his back popping louder than the fire as he did. "Like it or not, you were born to wear that blade of yours, my boy."

Kahlan thought back to the confrontation with Shota and how calm Richard had been, how he'd seemed almost to predict her words. "How did you…" she began, faltering when all three heads whipped her way as quickly as if she'd screamed. "How did you know she wanted me to stay in Agaden Reach?"

Richard gave her a sad smile and leaned forward, poking at the fire with a long stick. His gaze dropped from her face and became lost in the flames. "She's as sneaky as a snake," he muttered. "I don't think she lies about her visions – they're too precious to her – but she tries to twist and turn everything she sees to her advantage. If we listened to her, the new Seeker would be someone of her choosing. A pawn to wield the sword as she saw fit. It's a small step from that to imagine she'd want the Mother Confessor and our child under her power in Agaden Reach." He snapped the stick in two and tossed it into the blaze. "We are fools next to Shota in her mind, and it's up to her to save us all."

"As accurate a description of the old witch woman as I've ever heard," said Zedd as he set aside the apple core he'd gnawed nearly out of existence and reached for another. "Shota's visions give her a false sense of her own importance. It's dangerous to listen too closely, but there's some truth to what she said." His pale eyes turned her way, and Kahlan tried to brace herself for what was coming next. She wished Richard wasn't seated on the opposite side of the fire.

"Kahlan," he continued in a gentler voice. "It seems I should congratulate you, both of you, but I'm not certain that is what you want to hear." Kahlan pursed her lips together and looked up at the sky. It seemed endlessly vast overhead and she very small. She could feel the tension pouring into Richard, and when she glanced his way, he looked lost.

"I love the father of my child," she said quietly. "Confessors are not meant to know that privilege. It's enough that you can congratulate me for that."

Zedd nodded, speaking around a mouthful of apple, "Then congratulations, dear one. I know the child will be well loved." He offered her a fleeting smile before going on, "But it will also be coveted by many. I do not doubt that the Keeper wishes to add this soul to his collection. Shota is right that you're in danger. Perhaps it would be best to take you to Aydindril."

She had been expecting the words, but that made them no easier to hear. Somehow, she had imagined it might take him a little longer to actually suggest Aydindril. Kahlan tangled her fingers in her blanket. "The Seeker needs his Confessor," she said.

Richard stared at the fire, saying nothing, but Zedd spoke for him. "Of course he does, but Richard can hardly expect you to go traipsing all over the Midlands in your condition! Think of how much more comfortable you would be in Aydindril. You would have an entire city designed to keep you safe. Your guards. A bed."

Kahlan looked away, staring out into the darkness. "Most of the guards died before I crossed the boundary to find you. And I don't care about being comfortable. I'm fine."

Zedd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and gesturing with the half eaten apple. "Kahlan, you're with child. Surely you realize what that means."

"Of course I know what it means!" she snapped, her mood swinging too swiftly towards annoyed for her to hold her tongue. "I'm a grown woman."

"I meant in terms of traveling," he said in a calm voice the complete opposite of hers. "Have you had any sickness yet?"

Kahlan gave an uneasy shrug, "A little. What does it matter?" she said, her cheeks flushing. She looked down at the bread she'd barely touched, hoping Richard wouldn't point out that it had been far more than a little. He alone had seen her on those worst mornings when she couldn't manage so much as a sip of water without gagging. In all her life, she had never felt so ill for so long. When the nausea lessened each day around midmorning, the exhaustion was still there. Her breasts would often ache for hours on end, and sometimes she got so faint while they were marching she had to lie about having a pebble in her boot just to sit down.

But she didn't want to share any of that with Zedd. With anyone at all, really, except perhaps with Richard. And even with him it was raw and unsettling, frighteningly new. She took a determined breath and went on, "I'm the Mother Confessor. My job is to help the Seeker on his quest."

The darkness wasn't enough to hide the stern cast to Zedd's eyes. "That's not your only job now," he chided. A prickly silence followed his words, and she watched the flames as closely as Richard had. Her face felt too hot; her back too cold. She wasn't sure what she would do when she had an actual child to hold.

Cara spoke first, "She will slow us down."

Richard's head snapped up. "Cara!" he said – a sharp slide from the silence he'd kept straight into anger.

She only shrugged. "It's a fact. When she gets to be as big as a horse, she will slow us down. I didn't say she would be useless." Cara toyed with one of her Agiels, pulling the golden chain back and forth between her fingers. She stared at it, her eyes gone glassy as if she were entranced by the weapon. It was awhile before she spoke again, "A Mord-Sith at my temple became pregnant. She needed special leathers made for her. Some of her pets thought to mock her, but they never laughed long. Her volatile moods made her work with the Agiel…_inspired_." A small smile turned the corners of her mouth, and Cara looked up. "Some of the best I've ever seen."

Kahlan blinked, struggling to think of a response to that. "Um, thank you, Cara. I think."

Cara's smile broadened, and she settled back on her heels, looking pleased with herself. Zedd looked quite the opposite. "The Mother Confessor is hardly going to begin torturing men with an Agiel!"

"No, but Cara has a point," said Richard. His eyes met hers across the flickering flames. "You'll always have confession, right?"

"Always," she whispered. It was always there and always would be to keep them apart far better than the flames now burning between them.

He leaned forward, nodding a little, his face growing bright and animated the way it did when he was weaving some strategy together in his mind. It made her smile despite the day and the subject at hand – she loved that side of him. "Then, even when you can't fight, you won't be defenseless," he said. "And if there's any truth to Shota's vision, we have no idea who the Keeper's daughters could be. What's to stop one from being an old servant in Aydindril? The only people I'd trust with your life are all sitting right here."

Zedd tugged on his chin, a skeptical slant to his expression. He wanted her safe in Aydindril, that much was obvious from the set of his jaw alone. Kahlan glanced back at Richard, surprised to find that he was glaring at his grandfather. Something hard and angry twisted his face, not unlike the look he got when he took hold of the Sword of Truth and stood flooded in its magic.

If Zedd noticed, he chose not to say anything. Finally he nodded and stood, slapping his thighs as he pushed himself to his feet. "Well, it seems it's settled then." His hand rested a moment on her shoulder as he walked past. "I'll be glad to still have your company, dear one."

Kahlan nodded and looked to Richard with a sigh of relief, but he seemed not to hear her, his dark eyes lost in the twisting flames.

**xxx**

They said little as they settled in for the night. Richard claimed first watch, and Kahlan curled up on her side, turning so she could see him through her half closed eyes. He paced back and forth in front of the fire, an unsettled rhythm to his steps. Now and then he stopped and stood there, staring off into the blackness of the night. Kahlan felt every bit as restless, and after tossing and turning a long time to the tune of Zedd's snores and Cara's slow, steady breathing, she got to her feet, pulling her blanket around her like a shawl.

Richard turned at the sound, and she could see just well enough in the dark to make out his raised eyebrows. "Is everything all right?" he asked in a hushed voice.

She nodded and picked her way over to the fire, reclaiming her earlier seat on a fallen log. "I couldn't sleep," she said.

He shuffled closer, "Do you need anything? Are you hungry? I know dinner wasn't much…"

"I'm okay." She tilted her head back to look at him, and he eclipsed the moon. "I wanted to talk to you," she admitted. Though the others slept right beside them, they seemed suddenly very alone.

Richard hesitated a moment, then nodded. "All right," he said, but he settled on the far end of the log, leaving too large a gap between them. Instead of looking at her, he picked up a stick and started poking at the fire. His hair hung forward, hiding his face. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I…" Kahlan rubbed her hands up and down the fabric of her dress. She forced the words out in a rush, "Do you want me to go to Aydindril?"

That jerked his head up, and he dropped the stick into the fire as if he'd forgotten he held it. "No. Why would you think that?"

She studied the weave of her dress and muttered, "Because Cara's right. I will slow you down."

Richard shrugged a shoulder. "What of it? So we go a little slower. Zedd slows us down with his constant stopping for snacks, and we're not getting rid of him." It was a feeble joke, but she smiled anyway. "Besides, who's to say it won't be having you and your Confessor power there that saves us?"

"Maybe. But…" She nudged at the ground with the toe of her boot, finding it hard to get the words past her lips. It had been a long time since they'd talked this openly about anything. "I'm going to eventually slow you down a lot more than Zedd stopping for snacks."

"I know. I don't care." He sounded so solemn and sure, and it struck her how much he'd changed since they first met. He'd been a boy then, really, and now every last trace of that boy was gone. "What about you?" he asked, shifting closer. "Do you want to go to Aydindril?"

"No," she said at once. "You're the Seeker. You need your Confessor by your side."

"Stop that," said Richard, and suddenly he was holding both her hands between his larger ones, and he'd done it of his own volition. She wanted to look down at them or intertwine their fingers, but she feared he would realize he held them and let go. "Stop," he said again, his voice gentle but firm. "This isn't about the Seeker and the Mother Confessor. It's about you. Kahlan." He took his time with her name, and she knew he was making a point, emphasizing it instead of her title. "I know you're strong, but traveling will be hard on you." He hesitated before asking, "Would you be happier in Aydindril? We could stay until we were certain it was safe. And you would be comfortable. I'd come back as soon as I could…if you wanted."

Of course she wanted. She hated that he could even think she might not want him with her. Though she was the one Zedd now treated like glass, it seemed so clear to her that Richard's scars from that day ran far deeper than hers. "I don't want to go to Aydindril," she said, watching the firelight through his eyes.

"You really want to stay?"

She tilted her head, retreating a little behind the curtain of her hair. "It's why I only told you. I knew Zedd would want to send me away the moment he knew."

"But he's agreed you're coming with us!" said Richard, his voice too loud for the quiet night.

"For now," she said. "He's not convinced it's best though. He'll try again. Maybe not for a few months, but he will." And she would be slower then, more obviously with child. It would be twice as hard to argue that it made sense she stayed.

Richard tightened his grip on her hands, as if Zedd might suddenly rise from his sleep to order her back to Aydindril that night. "No one is sending you anywhere you don't want to go."

She looked past him at the black sky and asked what she'd been trying to forget all day. "Even with Shota's vision?"

"Don't worry about that. I won't let the Keeper have you. Or our child."

"But if it costs you your life?" she said, her very soul filled to the brim with prophecy.

"Then it costs me my life," he said in a determined voice. She shook her head, but Richard kept talking. "It's a price I'm willing to pay, Kahlan. I've always known I might not surive this." Her stomach flip-flopped, and her eyes brimmed with tears. It hurt more than she could describe to hear him talk of his own death, but still he went on, "It could happen in a thousand ways. I could get sloppy one day and not see a sword until it's too late. Or an arrow could get lucky and find my throat or my heart. It could be an accident and mean nothing at all. But if it saved your life?" He stopped and just stared at her a moment. A faint smile crossed his face, "I would gladly pay that price."

"Richard…" She could not stop his name from coming out as a desperate whine.

His breath hitched, and suddenly he was touching not her hand, but her face. She leaned into his touch, hungering for it. The pad of his thumb brushed across her cheek, trembling against her skin as he went on, "And if you would remember that I love you, and maybe…one day, tell her about me?" He looked away, his voice hushed and hesitant as if he expected her to answer in anger, "I would die a very lucky man."

Kahlan blinked against the tears in her eyes. She took hold of the hand pressed to her cheek, clinging to it so he couldn't pull away from her. "Why are you saying this?" she whispered. "You don't believe in prophecy."

"No," agreed Richard. "But you do. And if something happens to me, I want to have said this to you. I want you to know--"

"But you can't die," she cut him off. "You can't." The edge to her voice was wild and primal, and she could not stop the sharp pain in her breast. She couldn't have their child alone. She wasn't sure she could even exist in a world that had been robbed of him. Their hands slipped from her face, and he cradled hers like he held a treasure.

"Shh," he soothed. "I'm sorry. Kahlan, I'm sorry. It's going to be okay." His tone was different from a moment ago, and she realized she had made him turn from whatever he'd been about to say to comfort her instead. He squeezed her hand again and then let go, and she felt bereft. "I will fix this," he swore, his words a vow to the endless darkness and to her.

"I know," she said quietly. As overwhelming as the prophecy seemed, it was easy to believe things could be okay when he said they would be. There was something about him, a quality – elusive and hard to put words to – that made people trust in him deeply. If he ever decided he wanted his brother's now empty throne, she had no doubt that all of D'Hara would rise up and follow him with next to no effort on his part. She sat there wondering at him and wished he'd hold her hand again, but instead he rose and went to tend the fire.

When he returned from his task, the distance between them seemed to have grown greater again, as if he could only allow himself to be so close to her for so long. He kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot, "You need to sleep," he said softly.

"I don't know that I can," she admitted.

"You can," said Richard. "Once you try." She hesitated, wanting to stay by the fire longer if only to be near him. "Please," he added, "I know how tired you are."

Kahlan nodded, getting slowly to her feet. They both knew her exhaustion, and somehow that seemed important to her, like a thread twined around the both of them, keeping them together. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached out and drew her blanket back up around her shoulders.

Her throat felt very dry. She licked her lips and searched for her voice until she managed a whispered "Goodnight."

Richard nodded. "Goodnight," he echoed. She felt his eyes on her as she walked back to her bedroll. And she watched him by the fire until her eyes could stay open no longer, and she finally slept.

* * *

_Time for another PSA about Legend of the Seeker, you guys. I know none of us wants the upcoming finale to be our **last new Seeker episode ever**, but unless Seeker can find a new home, it will be. So please get involved with the **Journey Book Campaign** (a handy link to all you need to know can be found right at the top of my profile page), and **join the rest of us in emailing stations as one united voice**. It begins Monday, and the whole thing is very easy to do. All the emails are listed with handy form letters available for you to use, and it shouldn't take more than five minutes a day for you to help out with saving the show. And, well, this project is my baby and I've been working very hard to pull it together. So please, if you're reading this fic and you like it even the teeniest bit, join in and send those emails. I'll be so grateful I'll write chapter nine twice as fast as usual! ;)_


	9. Brother

_I'm sorry I've gotten behind on replying to reviews. Things have been very busy the past few days, and I thought you'd rather have the new chapter more. But I've read and appreciated every one, and I will catch up as soon as I can!_

* * *

**IX. BROTHER**

Richard sat alone by the fire, his elbows resting on his knees. It was nearly time to wake Cara for her watch, but his mind felt far too full for sleep. Shota's promises lurked as close and ominous as the shadows in the night. Prophecy was proving to be a far harder thing to laugh at now that it concerned Kahlan's life. He glanced to his right to where she lay curled up on her side, a hand tucked beneath her chin, the firelight adding hints of orange to her dark hair. At least she finally rested. That was some small comfort. Lately, her eyes had become twin pools of worry, and only in sleep did she seem at peace.

An owl hooted somewhere high overhead. His companions snored and breathed and dreamed. The fire turned hypnotic. He watched how the flames twisted and licked at the wood. How they sent up showers of sparks and began to glow green.

A pale, sickly shade of green he recognized all too well.

Richard scrambled to his feet just as the fire erupted skyward in a plume of vivid green. Darken Rahl materialized in front of him, flames like tongues licking at his crimson robes. His heart racing, Richard pulled his sword free. He felt suddenly, wildly awake, but the others slept on, unaware of the monster now standing in their midst.

Rahl chuckled, sweeping a hand in a graceful arc towards the Sword of Truth. His voice was smooth and velvety and full of delight, "I thought you learned last time, brother? You can't kill the dead."

Richard kept his sword up anyway. Kahlan lay just out of reach, closer to Rahl than to him. Fear and fury gripped his legs like iron, and his words started as a growl somewhere low in his throat, "What do you want, Rahl?"

The line of his eyes gave him away, and Darken Rahl followed it to where she slept. A pleased hum slipping past his lips, he treated her name like something far too intimate, "Kahlan, of course."

Richard moved without thinking. Leaping to the right, he thrust himself between Kahlan and the spirit of his brother, claiming the ground before her bedroll. He wasn't sure what to expect in response – a threat, perhaps, or more of the burning pain that had seared the Keeper's mark onto his chest their last encounter – but Rahl made no move to stop him. He stood there amidst the flames, his pale eyes glinting, the fire giving a green sheen to his dark hair. He watched in silence until Richard began to feel foolish and helpless, and then his smile turned into a leer.

"I'm sure you understand," he murmured. "She is an exquisite creature."

Anger from the sword forked through his body, and Richard brandished the blade at Rahl's chest. Though they spoke loudly, Kahlan slept still, helpless at his feet. He wondered if he should shout and wake her and the others, but the thought passed through his mind in a strange way as if just out of reach. He couldn't act on it though he wanted to; instead he spoke through gritted teeth, "You'll never have her."

Rahl spread his hands out, palms up. "Why do you insist on this hostility? I only wish to speak with you. We are not as different as you like to think." His gaze dropped to Kahlan lying unconscious on the ground, his lip curling as he took in her flesh, stared at it openly, his eyes gone dark with lust. "After all, I know what you did to her." He looked up, laughing softly, "I never would have thought my little brother had it in him to rape a woman."

Richard felt his vision blur with hot, feverish tears. "Stay away from her!" he choked out. He could not fathom how Rahl knew. Was he such a monster that the whole world knew? Even in the Underworld, they knew what he had done to her?

Rahl went on, his voice growing louder until it threatened to consume the night, "Tell me, brother, did she weep? Most women weep."

Oh, how she had wept. With her arm around his shoulder and her face pressed against his neck. Though he'd seen it through the haze of confession and had only found it unfortunate and nothing more, he could recall every silent tear she'd shed beneath him. "You know nothing about us," he snarled at Rahl, hating him, but it felt so much like staring in a mirror that it nearly brought him crashing to his knees. He had made Kahlan weep.

"Nothing?" Rahl raised a dark eyebrow. "That is where you are wrong, my brother. There is much we know about the two of you. The Keeper has women to read him the words written on the Halls of Prophecy as easily as you once read your precious Book of Counted Shadows. How else did you think I learned of your many transgressions?"

Richard tightened his grip on his sword, clinging to it in desperation. It seemed to him that, if he were to loosen his hold but a little, he would descend into a world of madness. He forced himself to think, "The Keeper's daughters?" he asked.

"Ah, so you are not entirely blind to the prophecies yourself." Rahl smiled as if he were proud. "This will make it easier. I have come to give you a choice. As you know, Kahlan is going to die." Unbidden, the first part of Shota's vision echoed inside his head.

_The Keeper's daughters hunt the one conceived in sorrow – child of love and fury – for their master lusts for its soul. If he gains it, the one in white will perish and all life shall follow her. _

"That's not a choice," said Richard. "She's not dying." A world without Kahlan would be one devoid of all beauty and all joy. It would be a world that held nothing for him.

"She is going to die," repeated Rahl. "Your choice is how." He stretched a hand out towards Kahlan, the green flames coiled like a serpent around his arm. "Give her to me now, and I will personally shelter her in the Underworld." His lip curled and he leered at her, "I will be kinder to her than you have been."

At his words, the sword began to glow in Richard's hands. His arms shook with the sudden effort of keeping his grip. Fury swept through him, unchecked and blistering, building and building until there was only the anger and the agony of the blade and nothing more. The voice he spoke in seemed not his own, "I am never giving her to you." He would die and the world would fall before he would ever deliver Kahlan to the Keeper.

Rahl's face remained impassive. He shrugged a shoulder as if it made little difference. "Then wait and doom her to an eternity of suffering. For she will suffer, my brother. You cannot begin to imagine the fate that awaits her." Rahl's eyes bored into him. His brother's eyes. He felt the Keeper's mark burning in his flesh. "That child she carries will be the death of her, one way or another. You will be the death of her."

Richard could hold back no longer. Unable to acknowledge how useless it would be, he brought the blade swinging down towards Rahl's throat. He might as well have been swatting at smoke. Cold, hollow laughter filled the night, clawing its way down his spine. It seemed to pour out of the darkness itself – as if it was the Keeper's own voice. Richard howled his fury as his brother stood before him unharmed.

The Keeper laughed. And laughed and laughed.

And suddenly there was black sky overhead, awash with twinkling stars.

"Richard! Richard, wake up!"

"Are you all right? Richard?"

He bolted upright, tangled in blankets. The anger of the sword was all that stayed with him. It pressed against his chest like the crest of a monstrous wave. He could but go with it or be knocked down. He went, scrambling backwards into a crouch, his mind a jumble, his breathing ragged. It had been a dream. Nothing more. A dream. The Sword of Truth still sat in its scabbard, but the scar on his chest throbbed, and he had his hand locked around the hilt.

The others stood huddled above him, their faces shadowed by the night and grave with concern. Kahlan's dress was ever so slightly askew; her hair tousled from sleep and ringed in firelight. Rahl's voice was a whisper in his ear.

_I know what you did to her._

The anger of the sword turned brutal and punishing. He welcomed it, tightening his grip as he forced himself to his feet through a wave of pain. "I'm all right," he muttered. "It was a dream."

"What sort of dream?" asked Zedd. He moved closer and placed a hand on Richard's shoulder. "You were screaming. You had a death grip on the sword in your sleep."

_I never would have thought my little brother had it in him to rape a woman._

Darken Rahl's voice crowded his mind, and he stared up at Zedd, the magic spiking beneath his skin. His grandfather's touch seemed suddenly to be something hateful, and he jerked his shoulder free. "I said it was just a dream!" he snarled, only barely aware of how Kahlan was staring at him.

He saw it then in his mind's eye with perfect clarity – the sword lifted high overhead, glowing, glittering with reflected moonlight and flame. The blade cut through the air as he brought it down in the quiet of absolute concentration, cleaving the wizard in two from head to crotch. He was gone in a fountain of blood, the two halves of old bones and wrinkled skin sagging to the ground.

Richard staggered back a step, wrenching his hand from the hilt of the sword.

"My boy, what's wrong?" Zedd stood before him in one piece, frowning down at him with a wrinkled, worried brow. A hot wave of nausea swept over him as the anger bled away. But the vision of shattering his grandfather's skull with the Sword of Truth remained.

Choking on a sudden influx of horror and shame, Richard turned away. He forced some words out about a walk and needing air, and then he was nearly running from the campsite, letting his feet carry him alone into the night.


	10. Lover

**X. LOVER**

Consumed by his thoughts, Richard had no idea how many circles he walked around the camp before he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. His hand flitted to his sword as he listened, only to let go a moment later. He knew the sound of those soft, even steps better than the beating of his own heart.

She called his name, and despite himself, he turned to face her.

In her white dress, Kahlan stood out pale as a spirit against the night. Her voice was breathless, as if she'd walked awhile to find him, "What happened back there?"

Richard shook his head, staring past her at a large knot growing on the trunk of an oak tree. There was nothing he wanted to say. And she belonged back at the camp, safe and resting, not searching for him alone in the woods. Kahlan slipped closer, reaching out with a questioning hand to pluck at the fabric of his shirt. He had yanked it open to let the cool night air soothe his chest, but it had done little for the searing pain running the length of the Keeper's mark. He flinched at her touch, and she nearly shied away like a frightened animal, her fingers just barely clinging to the fabric's edge.

Her eyes met his. "Let me see," she said, her voice determined, yet afraid. He did not know how to refuse her. All he could do was nod and stare entranced as Kahlan pressed her hand tentatively against his chest, fingers sliding over skin to line up with the imprint left by Rahl. She gasped and pulled away, "Richard!" she said. "The mark is red hot."

He turned from her, drawing fabric back over damaged skin. "It's nothing," he muttered. "Just a dream."

She huffed a soft sound of disbelief and followed after him. "How could a dream leave your skin hot as poker?"

"I must have slept too close to the fire," he said, struggling to forget the haunting laughter that had filled his head just before waking. Kahlan shifted to the left so she stood in front of him again, so near to him that he could smell her. He breathed in the strong scent of wood smoke mingled with the pine boughs she'd spread her bedroll over, and then he bowed his head and took in the ground.

"If it was a dream, tell me of it?" she asked. He did not want to, but she was so tender with him, overpowering him with nothing more than the warmth of her body, and the memory of her hand on his chest, that he could not help but comply.

"I saw Darken Rahl," he said and hoped it would be enough to satisfy her.

"A nightmare then?" said Kahlan. Richard shrugged his shoulders – she would pity him if he shared Rahl's words, and he did not deserve that. He could feel her eyes searching his face, trying to get him to look at her. She sighed when he did not, "Zedd is worried about you."

He saw again the Sword of Truth cleaving a path through his grandfather's head, splitting his brow, his nose, his chin in two. Richard closed his eyes and struggled to repress a shudder. "I shouldn't have yelled at him," he said. "I'll apologize."

Kahlan frowned and stepped closer, moving back into his space so she became all he felt or knew. "I'm worried about you too," she said. This time she rested a hand on his arm, and desire quickened in him despite how hard he tried to fight it. "You weren't like this earlier tonight. What did Darken Rahl say to you?"

He looked away from her. "It was just a bad dream."

"One that you refuse to speak of."

"I haven't refused—" he began.

"You have." It was the voice of the Mother Confessor she spoke with – sharp and sure and wise beyond her years. And in the next moment, she was Kahlan again, full of worry, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "Richard, you're nothing like him."

He scowled bitterly. "If you knew my thoughts…"

"I know your heart," she said, staring up at him with eyes that seemed suddenly, fiercely bright. As if he could drown or burn or disappear to die a thousand happy deaths in their depths. "And it is a good heart," she added softly. Again she reached to touch him, her fingertips brushing over his cheek. Her thumb slid across his jaw, until it just grazed the edge of his lower lip. A shiver ran through him, and he knew she felt it.

He pulled away to try to kill his longing for her, some undying fire that never went out, and Kahlan's face fell. Her hand dropped to her side. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought there might be tears in her eyes. Rahl's laughter lurked beneath his skin. All he ever did was hurt her.

She sucked in a shaky breath, twisting her hands together. "Are we…Is it always going to be—" She sounded mournful and terrified, her voice a strange, strangled whisper, "Are you ever going to want to kiss me again?"

Richard gaped at her. His jaw worked, but no words came out. He stood as stunned as if she'd struck him. "How can you ask me that?" he managed at last.

Kahlan shook her head, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, and he had to strain to hear her answer, "Because you used to, sometimes. Before…"

He remembered a handful of stolen kisses, brief and fleeting, in those rare, splendid moments when Zedd and Cara weren't around. Because he'd liked her reaction. And because she had the most perfect mouth.

But that had been before. Before he'd held her down and raped her. The others never used that word to describe what had happened that day, not once. Even he hadn't dared to say it out loud; he couldn't bear it, not when the reality cut like a knife. But Rahl's voice echoed inside his head, and he knew his brother was right. It fit the revulsion he felt towards himself far better than anything else.

_Tell me, brother, did she weep? Most women weep._

He retreated another pace. "Kahlan," he begged.

She pursed her lips together and spoke hesitantly, "Do you still think of me…that way?" Dear spirits, she was doing this to torment him. Except Kahlan barely knew how to flirt, let alone how to play those sorts of vicious games with a man's heart.

She would know if he lied, and so he didn't. "I try not to."

"Oh." A look of pain flashed across her face right before it tore through his heart. She went white as the moon overhead, and her lower lip trembled. "I wish you wouldn't try," she said in a small, small voice. "I still think of you that way."

Richard shook his head. His mind was full of the memory of her – the tumble of her hair, the warmth of her flesh, the wet of her mouth – and it was too much. "I imagined killing Zedd with the Sword of Truth!" he blurted out. "When he touched my shoulder tonight, I thought of cutting him in two." He didn't know why he said it, except in the desperate hope that she would loathe him.

Instead, Kahlan cried his name with something that sounded like understanding, and ended months of distance in a single moment by wrapping him up in her arms. She was all that was warm and wonderful, and, against his will, his head dropped to rest on her shoulder. He felt a hot tear leak from the corner of his eye to land on her bare skin. She said nothing of it, just pressed against him even more.

His hands hung at his sides – he would not let himself hold her – but he could still feel the softness her body had gained. It was all but imperceptible when he looked at her, but she felt different than she had the last time she'd been so close. She was softer and fuller now where before she'd been toned. And he could feel the gentlest swell to her stomach – not yet enough to strain the fabric of her dress. Another tear fell against her skin, and this time she murmured his name. It was all he could do to keep from weeping openly.

"Hold me, Richard," she whispered. He obeyed.

She leaned into him as he closed a cautious hand around her waist. Her breath was hot against his neck. She said something that might have been his name, but it didn't really matter because the point was not the word, but the sound. Her blue eyes were inky in the night; her fingertips busy burning a trail down his spine. He could feel her breasts mashed against him, and he looked down despite himself, captivated by the way they rose and fell with each breath she took. She watched him stare, and they breathed the same air in ragged gasps.

He did not know how not to want her.

"Kahlan…" He found her eyes again, his voice gone husky and low.

She kissed him then, her mouth warm and wet and open against his, and spirits forgive him, he kissed her back. He clutched her to him as tears oozed from the corners of his closed eyes, delving into her mouth with a hunger he had not known since the very first time they'd kissed. Back when her magic had been a mystery, and she simply the most beautiful, perfect woman he'd ever seen.

He ran his hands through her long hair, countless strands whispering past his fingertips, and for a moment, he let himself forget why he shouldn't, why he didn't deserve to do this. He just pulled her closer and drank her down. Kahlan moaned into his mouth, and then they were staggering backwards together, their feet trading ground. But when her back bumped up against the trunk of an oak, catching her between him and the towering tree, he felt her tremble and freeze. Her mouth stilled half open against his.

Richard pulled back, and he saw in her eyes an echo of that same frightened way she'd looked at him when pinned to the ground. He swore he could feel her heart racing. Her breath came in little, pitiful gasps, and though she tried to smile at him, it didn't fit.

"Kahlan, I would never…" he said, voice cracking as he backed further away from her. He wished a rift to the Underworld would open up right beneath his feet to swallow him whole.

"I know," she said quickly, nodding too many times. "I know. I'm fine, please." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm sorry. I don't know why…" She sagged against the tree, whispering, "I didn't mean to do that."

Richard stared at the ground because the sight of her with swollen lips and a dark, tangled halo of hair was too much to bear. "Don't be sorry," he said. He forced himself to stagger backwards more, away from her. Far away from her. He had often wondered if she feared him now, and now he knew she did. Maybe not all of her, but some part of her did. Deep down inside, she was afraid. It had stopped them even before her magic would have forced them apart. "It's my fault," he said. "I had no right."

"But I love you!" she said in a wobbly voice. "You had every right."

"Kahlan, no, I don't. Not anymore." His words came out rougher than he intended, but he could not forget what it felt like to be buried deep inside her when she said things like that, and that was a memory he was never allowed to find so much as a moment's pleasure in. Richard gripped the hilt of his sword in desperation, welcoming the punishing, painful wave of anger that swept through him.

She tugged a hand down her hair, taming it. He could tell by the look on her face that only his tone had stopped her from saying more. Kahlan straightened her dress and – two deep breaths later – she looked composed again, if a little shaken. "Zedd and Cara will be worried by now," she said softly.

"You go ahead," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. He didn't want to face the others tonight, especially Zedd. And sleeping was out of the question anyway, so he might as well pace the woods until the sun came up. Kahlan would probably rest easier herself if he wasn't near. "I might go hunting," he offered as an excuse, though hardly a convincing one without his bow.

But she crossed her arms over her chest, and the strength that used to be so predominant in all that she did seemed to snap back into her. "I'm with child, and you're going to let me walk back alone?" she asked. "In the middle of the night?" Kahlan raised an eyebrow in a delicate arch, her voice sharp and humorless. "I could get eaten alive by gars."

He knew what she was trying to do. Kahlan was no damsel in distress and never one to play at it either for attention. But her words were more than enough to shame him into returning to camp. Richard tightened his grip on the sword, letting the wash of angry magic rushing through him clear his head. Though she held no true qualms about walking the short distance back, there were dangers enough in the Midlands ready to strike at those who traveled alone or unwary, and that was without a prophecy heralding her death. He shuddered at the thought and moved a cautious step closer. He had to keep her safe.

"You're right," he said, and their eyes met all too briefly before they both looked away. "Let's go back." The forest was dark and tangled and cold, and they walked through it in silence, side by side.


	11. Sister

**XI. SISTER**

"This place looks familiar," said Richard as he led the way down a well worn forest path. "I remember the trees."

Kahlan glanced up at the canopy of orange and red leaves. They seemed endless overhead, yet even more littered the ground, crunching beneath their feet as they walked. Of course Richard would remember the trees. They looked like any other trees to her, but it was the most he'd sounded like himself in weeks, and it brought a smile to her lips.

"We're not far from the hidden valley of Thandor," she told him. "We passed this way with Renn."

Recognition showed in his dark eyes. "I remember," he said, giving her a fleeting smile before turning his attention back to the path. She tried not to mind the way he quickened his pace so he walked a little in front of her instead of side by side. Always walking alone had become a habit of his since the night he'd seen Darken Rahl in his sleep, and she'd woken up to the sound of his screams. Many things had become a habit since that night, she thought, taking in the hand he now kept permanently clenched around the Sword of Truth. She had come to miss the awkward secretiveness they'd shared during those few early mornings before the others learned she was with child.

Kahlan snatched a leaf from a branch, twirling it idly as she walked so the red and gold blended together like a flame in her hand. She smiled at it a moment and let it flutter to the ground, quickening her pace to keep up with Richard. She managed for a little while, but all too soon her body won out, her ever present exhaustion clinging to her and weighing her down like sodden clothes. She began to think of nothing but stopping to rest though it was still hours until sunset, and no one else showed any sign of tiring. Kahlan huffed loudly, prickling with irritation at herself and the others. The very night Zedd and Cara had learned she was with child, they'd teamed up with Richard, deciding for her despite her protests that she was no longer allowed to stand watch. She now got far more sleep than any of them, and yet they all seemed so infuriatingly energetic. Even Zedd was keeping up better than her.

Soon, he and Cara passed her by, leaving her to lag behind them at the end. She trudged along, her head pounding, biting her tongue to keep from snapping at them and bursting into tears. It was the oddest feeling, but she seemed to need to do both.

Kahlan drew in a shuddering breath and quickened her pace a little, speeding up enough to overhear Zedd reminiscing loud and long about his favorite ways to season stews, Cara as his reluctant audience. She tossed in the occasional tired hum of acknowledgment, and what Kahlan hoped were sarcastic comments about the richer flavors found when eating meat raw. She listened to them awhile, caught up in the absurdity of the conversation, until it struck her that a Mord-Sith and a wizard somehow had more to say to each other than she and Richard. That sent her hurtling back towards the brink of tears, and she dragged her hand across her eyes, blinking furiously.

She couldn't tell whether it was guilt or loneliness or desperation that made her push past Zedd and Cara and call out his name. She ignored the confused look Zedd shot her way, hurrying towards Richard despite how far ahead he was. He turned at the sound of her voice and started back, the two of them meeting halfway. His dark eyes were puzzled and unsure.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. There was no answer to that. Everything was wrong. Everything. Every day seemed to see them slipping further and further apart; he had not touched her once since she flinched from his kiss in the woods.

"I…" she gasped, still catching her breath. "I wanted to ask you something."

Richard frowned but nodded. "Okay," he said as they fell into step beside each other.

"I wanted to know…" she stalled, not sure where or how to begin. All she wanted was to talk to him, to be near him and hear his voice, but she couldn't remember what they used to talk about back when conversation had been easy. She looked around at the towering trees, the endless woods outside Thandor. "Do you remember when we found Renn?" she asked.

He gave a nod, but stayed silent, a hand on his sword and his eyes on the path. She nearly wept, but instead she tried again, "I wonder how he's liking Thandor?"

"I'm sure he's fine," said Richard at last, pushing a low hanging branch out of her way. "After all, you were raised there." He put a weight to it, as if she had made the hidden valley more worthwhile simply by being there.

Kahlan smiled at her memory of the place. Thandor had been a refuge of peace and laughter and healing after escaping her father, but it had only been her home for a few short years. "The Sisters of the Light are talented, but it takes a Confessor to teach other Confessors," she said. "I wasn't too many years older than Renn when Sister Isobel brought me to Aydindril to be trained."

"Sister Isobel?" asked Richard.

She hummed softly, "Yes. She's the sister who helped rescue me and Dennee. She was very kind."

Though she could barely recall the Confessor who'd first found them, she still remembered Sister Isobel perfectly. She'd been a beautiful woman, older than Kahlan was now, but still young, with soft gray eyes and hair that fell in curls the color of honey. She had stood up to their father though Kahlan had thought him to be the most fearful man in all the Midlands. She still remembered the rush of pure joy she'd felt when she realized they were truly free, and how she and Dennee had decided that, after their mother, Sister Isobel was the bravest, most beautiful woman they'd ever met. More than once, she'd regretted not asking after her when they brought Renn to Thandor. But she had been so concerned with stopping Darken Rahl at the time, it had completely slipped her mind.

She imagined Sister Isobel was still there though, helping more frightened, gifted children. Perhaps even getting caught up in Renn's mischief.

Richard was studying her face. "You were very fond of her," he said quietly.

"I was." She pushed at a stray strand of hair, laughing a little, "I wonder if she's had to give Renn a lecture on pranks yet. She always hated pranks."

He considered her words a moment, and at first, she thought he wasn't going to answer. But then a ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Speaking from personal experience, Mother Confessor?"

"No," Kahlan flushed. "I never would've dared! She was like a second mother to us. Dennee and I were so scared when we first got there, and she was so kind. It's usually the older boys who get mischievous." Besides, she'd always been one to follow the rules growing up. Rules were all a Confessor had. But then she'd met Richard, and now she wasn't sure what she had. It no longer followed any rules.

"Renn's a good kid," said Richard. "The worst he'd do is put a couple of frogs in the sisters' beds."

Kahlan's lip twitched. "Speaking from personal experience there, Seeker?"

Richard said nothing, but he gave her a rare, glorious grin that made her heart beat faster. She reveled in it, remembering how good he'd been with Renn. So kind and natural and everything she wasn't quite sure how to be herself. He'd said Renn had been good practice, in case they ever got to be parents one day, but he didn't need any practice at all. Richard would make a wonderful father, she was absolutely certain. Far better than her own had ever been.

She sighed and smoothed a hand down the front of her white dress. That day outside Thandor seemed a lifetime ago and just yesterday at the same time. He had been so earnest and boyish and unburdened, and she had felt all the guilt in the world for keeping it secret that Confessors took mates, never lovers. Neither of them could have imagined then that, barely a year later, she would already be lacing everything a bit looser because of their baby.

"I'm going to go scout ahead," said Richard abruptly, tearing her from her thoughts. "I want to make sure the trail's clear."

Kahlan frowned. He'd been doing that a lot lately, racing ahead of the rest of them so he could see the path first and make sure it was safe. "I'm sure it's fine, Richard," she said, annoyance creeping into her voice. She'd doubled her pace for nothing if he was just going to charge ahead again without her.

His focus flitted from tree to tree behind her. "You know what's out there," he said.

"Yes," she snapped. "But you running into banelings or screelings alone is hardly better than us running into them together."

"I was a wood's guide," he said. "When I go alone, no one sees me unless I want them to." She knew he didn't mean it as a boast – he was as good as his word. On more than one occasion, she'd watched him slip out of sight as easily as a shadow. But that knowledge did little to comfort her.

Her breath hissed past her teeth as she struggled to keep up with him. "Do you have to keep walking so fast?" she blurted out, her frustration bubbling over.

Richard stopped in his tracks and stared at her, a puzzled frown twisting his brow. "No," he said after a moment. "Do you need to rest?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said. "We should keep walking. And…" She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about before. Her lower lip wobbled at that, and she bit down to make it stop. Dear spirits, all she wanted was to lie down and sleep. "We should just keep going," she said again. "You don't need to scout ahead."

But Richard looked wary. "The Keeper's daughters are out there somewhere," he said, an edge to his voice to match the Sword of Truth.

"We haven't seen any sign of them!" She fussed with the straps of her pack, trying to get them to lie comfortably. They were every bit as irritating as everything else. "Besides, I doubt they'd want to travel so close to Thandor," she said, giving up on the strap and glowering at it.

He glanced her way again, "Why not?"

"It's full of Sisters of the Light!" she snapped.

Kahlan could hear the skepticism in his voice when he spoke, "I know the sisters cared for you and Dennee, and Thandor gives them some protection, but do you really think they're a threat to the Keeper's servants? A bunch of schoolmistresses in a valley?"

His words broke through her annoyance, and she had to fight to hold back a smile. Sometimes, she forgot how little he still knew of the world beyond Westland. "They're sorceresses, Richard," she said.

He blinked. "Sorceresses?"

She nodded, concentrating on the faint hum of magic continually washing over her skin. The path ahead lay full of dappled light and crimson leaves, some shaking softly down to land on the forest floor. It looked peaceful, but even heading away from Thandor as they were, the air still tingled with echoes of all the power holed up in the valley. "The Keeper's servants would be fools to underestimate them," she said quietly. "They carry these blades, dacras, they call them. Once even the tip of one is stuck in you, they can send their magic through it, and kill you quicker than a thought."

"And these are the women who cared for you as a child?" said Richard.

She smiled faintly. "They're not as bloodthirsty as that sounds. They were very kind. Very devout." She remembered Sister Isobel singing hymns for lullabies to help her and Dennee fall asleep. Telling them that they could miss their mother, but not to grieve because they were the Creator's daughters too, and she would always be there for them. Kahlan closed her eyes a moment. "But all of their children have incredible powers and have either been orphaned or abused," she said, trying to forget herself in that sentence. "They have to be strong enough to keep them safe."

"Kahlan?" Richard stopped walking and turned to face her. Zedd and Cara were hidden by a bend in the path, leaving them very alone. Leaves danced overhead, and she listened to them rustle as the breeze shifted. "Maybe we should take you to Thandor…until you have the baby?" He spoke hesitantly, as if anticipating her reaction. "If they're as powerful as you say, you would be safe there. And they raised you as a little girl – the sisters would welcome you with open arms."

"No!" she snapped, far more emotion tearing through her at his words than she was prepared for. Hands clenched in fists, she sidestepped him and resumed walking twice as fast as before.

He jogged after her, "Kahlan?"

"I said no, Richard." Trees and leaves flew past in a blur. Her eyes brimmed with tears she did not mean to shed. "We've already talked about this! You need your Confessor by your side!" She expected Zedd to try and send her away to have the baby, but not Richard. Never Richard.

He caught up with her easily, "It was an idea. That's all. Just an idea." He looped a hand around her arm, tugging her to a gentle halt. It was the first time he'd touched her since they'd kissed, and Kahlan froze, waiting for the wild panic that had swept over her unbidden that night. It never came. "I thought you might like to be with women who knew you as a child for this," he said hesitantly. His face was so close to hers, his dark eyes so full of worry. "I just want you to be safe. Please, I need you to be okay."

"Then don't send me away from you!"

That made him let go of her, just as she feared it would. His hand fell to rest on the hilt of his sword, pain flashing in his eyes. "All right," he said in a quiet voice, guilt ridden and unsure. She hated what she'd done to him. "Whatever you want, Kahlan. You know that."

She looked up at the patches of sky showing through the trees overhead, blinking away her tears before they could fall. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so—" Kahlan sucked in a breath, feeling like she teetered on the edge of a bout of desperate, uncontrollable sobbing for next to no reason at all. "I don't know why I keep getting so upset today…" She tried to put on her Confessor's face, but couldn't get it to stay. "I'm just exhausted," she heard herself say in a small, weepy voice that couldn't possibly be hers.

Richard's expression morphed into one of sudden understanding, and he smiled at her. "Why don't we stop for the night, as soon as Zedd and Cara catch up?" She started to protest, but he just shrugged off his pack and dropped it on the ground. "We're stopping, Kahlan," he said in a firm voice. "You need to sit down."

She did as he said, sinking to rest on the side of the road while they waited for the others. She wanted him to sit beside her, but Richard stayed on his feet, falling back into a brooding silence as he paced the trail with a hand on his sword.

Richard set off with his bow as soon as they made camp. There was more than enough daylight left for hunting thanks to her. He'd told her to sit and rest awhile, but all too soon she began to feel useless. Zedd was busy puttering around the fire, chopping up roots with a belt knife to ready them for the stew, and Cara was gathering all the waterskins, about to head off in search of a stream. She thought of offering to help with the cooking, but the smell was already beginning to turn her stomach. Kahlan forced herself to her feet instead and headed for the Mord-Sith.

"I thought Richard wanted you to rest?" called Zedd.

"I did already," she said, slinging two of the waterskins over her shoulder. He gave her a skeptical look, which she ignored. "It's just gathering water. It will go twice as fast with two of us."

"Everything goes faster when I do it by myself," said Cara, but she didn't take the waterskins back.

Zedd sighed, "Well if there are two of you, one of you can keep an eye open for any wild bethane. It would make a perfect accent for the stew." He launched into a lengthy, vivid description of the desired herb, which Cara didn't bother even pretending to listen to, and it seemed an eternity before they were finally on their way.

By the time they were trudging through the forest, Kahlan felt in no mood to talk to anyone, let alone the Mord-Sith. The waterskins bounced against her hipbone, irritating her every other step. She was just about to suggest they try splitting up when Cara spoke, "When is the wizard going to do something about the prophecy?"

She turned around, "Excuse me?"

"He has magic," said Cara flatly. "He should be doing something to stop it."

She bent down to look at a plant for something to do. It had five leaves instead of the desired four. Whatever it was, Richard would probably know, but it wasn't wild bethane. She shook her head, "There's nothing Zedd can do. It's prophecy."

Cara looked incensed. "But Richard's life is in danger!"

"I know that," snapped Kahlan as she straightened up. She didn't need reminders from Cara; she worried about him enough without any help. The Mord-Sith ignored her tone, either that or she failed to recognize it as anything relevant. She was never quite sure which it was with Cara.

"The prophecy needs better structure," continued Cara, falling into step beside her. Kahlan wanted to ask when she'd become such an expert on prophecy, but somehow held her tongue. To her surprise, the Mord-Sith began reciting Shota's vision in full, _"The Keeper's daughters hunt the one conceived in sorrow – child of love and fury – for their master lusts for its soul. If he gains it, the one in white will perish and all life shall follow her. But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living." _

Cara scowled, swinging an Agiel in her fist. "At least in the part pertaining to you, it's clear who we need to stop, and once we find the Keeper's daughters, I will kill them." Kahlan tried and failed to hide her astonishment; she hadn't imagined Cara would give the threat to her a second thought. As usual, the Mord-Sith paid no attention to the look on her face, and carried on, "But it's not like this with Richard."

"No," she murmured. "It's not. _'If by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead…'_" Those words had haunted her from the moment she first heard them. "It almost makes it sound like he's a sacrifice."

Cara's face lit up. "You mean he will try to do something foolish because he believes it to be noble, and it will get him killed? This is good. We can prepare for that."

Kahlan had the oddest feeling – as if normal words and ideas were all passing through some sort of Mord-Sith filter. She stopped and strained her ears for the sound of rushing water. Hearing nothing, she looked over at her companion. "I didn't know D'Harans believed in prophecy. You don't seem troubled by Shota saying Richard will fail to find the Stone of Tears."

Cara scoffed. "That prophecy is obviously incorrect and irrelevant. Richard is the Lord Rahl, and Lord Rahl could find water in the desert if he wished."

"So D'Harans don't believe in prophecy?" she asked, shifting the waterskins to her other shoulder.

"D'Harans believe in Lord Rahl," said Cara. It was impossible to miss the faintly crazed reverence with which she said Lord Rahl.

Kahlan fought the urge to roll her eyes. Mord-Sith could make a confessed man appear to be free thinking. She veered towards a rather square shaped rock that she swore looked familiar. Maybe Richard's woods guide tendencies were rubbing off on her more than she thought.

"Richard is only worried about the longer prophecy," continued Cara. "And it is a threat to his life. It must be stopped."

Kahlan laughed bitterly. "Prophecy can't just be stopped. It's prophecy!" Sister Isobel had called it a force of nature – the way of the world. She'd never understood how Richard could just shrug his shoulders at it, and even he was doing less of that lately. "You can't simply decide that you're going to change a prophecy. It's much more complicated than that…"

She trailed off as she caught sight of another square shaped rock. And then another. Peering through the trees, she glimpsed a squat cylinder built of weathered stone with more tumbled rocks around it. "I know this place," she murmured. "Dear spirits, I can't believe I forgot about it." She grabbed Cara's arm without thinking and hurried her towards the cluster of ruins.

"There used to be a village here a long time ago," she explained as they stepped into the clearing that had once been the center of the little settlement. The forest had grown up around it, turning it into a secret, hidden space surrounded by a wall of trees. "The only thing left is the well," she said, nodding her head towards the squat stone cylinder. "We'll be able to fill the waterskins."

Although the stone well stood undamaged, the outside was covered in long, trailing vines beginning to wither and brown with the coming winter. Here and there a few white flowers still peppered the places between the stones. Beside the well sat a rusty pail tied to a long length of coiled rope, just as she remembered. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Together, they eased the heavy cover off the well, and Kahlan hauled up a pail full of water. She scooped a drink from it with her hands, savoring the taste – cold enough to make her teeth ache and so, so sweet.

Cara squatted down next to her, uncapping the first of the waterskins. "How do you know of this place?" she asked.

Kahlan took the waterskin from her and began filling it up. "I was young when I first left Thandor for Aydindril, and I was sad to be leaving Dennee behind. We'd always been together before—" She stopped abruptly, looking at the Mord-Sith and then away. She hated those moments when it caught her off guard that this was her sister's murderer she was sitting beside. It made her feel like she was betraying Dennee somehow by not hating Cara every hour of every day.

She fumbled with the pail, sloshing water on her dress. Kahlan forced herself to keep talking. "Sister Isobel brought me here on my way to Aydindril the first time. She thought it might cheer me up. And then I brought Dennee, when I came back to take her to Aydindril a few years later."

Her sister had thought it a lovely place, and they'd sat together almost exactly where she and Cara were now, talking about Aydindril and their mother and getting to wear a real Confessor's dress. Her dress had been black then, and Dennee hadn't had one at all. The man guarding them had been one of the first she'd confessed because it was her job, and not because her father forced her to do it. She'd been so proud of that, and so filled up with foolish, hopeful, innocent things. She remembered whispering with Dennee about what it meant to take a mate as they took turns drinking straight from the pail, her little sister giggling and blushing every time she glanced at the confessed guard.

She forced the cork into the waterskin and handed it to Cara. The Mord-Sith had an odd look on her face – rather like she'd sat on something sharp. Wordlessly, they exchanged empty waterskin for full, and Kahlan tilted the pail to fill the next one up.

"I was following orders," said Cara in a voice as uncomfortable as her expression. "On Valeria."

Kahlan bit back a sigh. "I know."

"Lord Rahl's orders."

"I know, Cara."

"No." She pursed her lips together. "You're not D'Haran. You don't feel the bond to Lord Rahl."

Kahlan stared down at the empty pail. She didn't want to be curious, not about any sort of excuse Cara might offer for Dennee's death. Except Richard was Lord Rahl now, in a way, and she couldn't not be curious. She wanted to know everything about him. She made it until Cara hauled up the next bucket of water before she gave in and asked, "What do you mean?"

"D'Harans are bonded to Lord Rahl," said Cara, her leather creaking as she squatted down and began filling a waterskin. "Especially Mord-Sith. I don't understand the magic, but it's how my Agiels work. It makes us feel…compelled to do as he wishes."

She raised an eyebrow, "Like confessed are compelled?"

"No. It's not so strong." Cara jammed the cork into the waterskin and dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. "But you want to do what Lord Rahl wants. Even if you want to do something else, you want to do what he wants more. It's simple."

Kahlan frowned, reordering the waterskins into a tidy pile. "So why aren't the rest of your sisters compelled to do as Richard wants?"

"They don't believe he's Lord Rahl," said Cara, her eyes locking on Kahlan's, boring into her with an intensity she found overwhelming. It seemed to her that, everything the Mord-Sith did, she did intensely. "You must believe."

"And you do?"

Cara snorted and gave a single nod, the jagged ends of her blonde hair grazing her leather. "I'm not a fool."

"So you feel compelled to do what Richard wants?" Kahlan dunked the final waterskin into the bucket, the cold water stinging her skin and numbing her fingertips. "It's the same with him?"

The Mord-Sith made a face like she was considering. "It's the same. It is also different."

Kahlan straightened up and wiped her hands dry on her skirt. "How do you mean?"

Cara smirked at that. "Richard is the one who showed me I don't always have to listen to Lord Rahl. If he tries to do the foolish sacrifice from the prophecy, I'd stop him."

"Good," murmured Kahlan. "Good." At least they both agreed about that. She trailed her hand over the well, rubbing at the grooves in the stones. The sun was at last beginning to set, ribbons of violet and orange peeping through the ring of trees. Her foot nudged the pail, and it made a hollow, tinny sound that echoed inside her heart. Standing there made her miss Dennee. She let her hand fall from the stone to settle over her stomach. There was so much she wished she could tell her sister.

She jerked herself from her thoughts when she realized Cara was watching her intently, that strange, uncomfortable expression back on her face. Her hand dropped to her side, and she cleared her throat, "We should get back."

Cara ignored her words, kicking at a patch of undergrowth with the toe of her boot. "What of that plant?" she asked. "Is it the one Zedd wants?"

Kahlan knelt to examine it. Four leaves each with deep purple veins on the underside. "It might be," she said, glancing up at the Mord-Sith in astonishment. "I never would have spotted it. How did you know?"

Cara rolled her eyes. "The wizard talked about its flavor all day. I expect to see it in my sleep tonight."

She laughed despite herself and cut a handful free with her dagger. "Here," she held it out. "You're the one who found it. You bring it back." Cara rolled her eyes again, but she took the little bundle of wild bethane and closed her gloved fingers around it with surprising gentleness.

Kahlan ran her hand over the stone well a final time and thought of Dennee. She was loathe to leave it, but the setting sun shone full in her face and left her squinting against the light. It would be dark all too soon.

"Are you ready yet?" asked Cara. Kahlan wasn't sure what it was, but she swore the question sounded more understanding than impatient.

At last, she turned her back on the memories and faced the Mord-Sith. "I suppose so."


	12. Ignite

**XII. IGNITE**

An arrow whistled through the air, passing too near to her. Richard felt the magic of his sword intensify with the threat of the arrow, setting a fire burning beneath his skin. He fought the urge to grab Kahlan and pull her behind him, forcing himself to turn blade first into the nearest man instead. The D'Haran fell at his feet, crumpling towards the gaping wound in his side, and Richard swung the Sword of Truth around to meet another. The air stank of blood and bodies burning in a bright blaze of wizard's fire.

The attack had come suddenly – hard eyed D'Harans leaping out from behind a bend in the road not halfway through the day's march. He'd had time to do no more than shout Kahlan's name in warning before the men were upon them, swinging blades and calling for death. He was vaguely aware of Cara somewhere to his right, bringing the biggest to the ground, blood leaking from the man's ears and eyes as she leaned into him with her Agiels. But it was Kahlan he kept an eye on as he fought. The hot, angry magic of the sword was like a siren's song sung in his veins every time he glanced her way, swelling in some desperate, furious crescendo as he brought death to yet another man.

She'd been dizzy and weak that morning, but now she seemed as sure and deadly with her daggers as she'd ever been. Though there was a slight swell to her belly now, she still managed to arch backwards out of the sweep of a mace, coming up to fling a dagger into another man's chest. He dropped lifeless to the ground, and then only the hulking menace with the mace remained before her. In a blink her leg had lifted, her boot smashing into his fist. The mace tumbled from his grasp, and for a fleeting moment, Kahlan met Richard's eyes over the doomed D'Haran's shoulder. The look she gave was half chastising and half something he couldn't quite read, and he realized Kahlan hadn't missed a thing. She knew how closely he watched her and why. Richard didn't care. She shouldn't be fighting like this. His heart wouldn't stop racing until she was safe.

He slew the red faced soldier nearest him, warm blood splattering across his fingers and forearm, just as her hand closed around the throat of the last man standing. Her eyes blackened and her magic tore through the air, stripping the dead leaves from a nearby tree as she took the man's soul.

Richard watched him cleave to her side the way he had Annabelle's, gazing up at his new mistress in rapture. He was a large, war hardened man with massive shoulders and a ragged scar cutting across half his face, but he knelt at her feet like a man in prayer. Richard gripped the sword harder and looked away, trying not to remember Annabelle.

Cara and Zedd drew closer, stepping over and around the dead respectively, and the three of them hurried to Kahlan's side. "Are you all right?" he asked just as Zedd voiced his concern as well.

Kahlan smiled faintly. "I'm fine," she said in a breathless voice, turning her attention back to the man at her feet. Her expression hardened, "Why did you attack us?"

"Forgive me, Mistress!" wailed the ruined man. "But you travel with Richard Rahl." He nodded towards a fallen D'Haran dressed in a more elaborate version of the red and black uniform he wore, "Captain Mercer wanted to kill the false Lord Rahl."

"False Lord Rahl?" interjected Cara, brandishing her Agiel but a breath from his heart. "Perhaps I should let you feel my Agiel, so you understand just how well the bond still works?"

"If it would please my mistress," he said, his pale blue eyes never straying from Kahlan's face, eager to submit to the agony of an Agiel if it might give her pleasure. Richard stared at him in disgust.

Kahlan ignored the offer and said, "Explain what you mean by the false Lord Rahl."

The soldier nodded, stumbling over his words in his haste to answer her, "Many D'Harans believe the rumor of Richard Rahl's birth to be fabricated – that he is no more than a farm boy making a desperate play for the throne of D'Hara."

"I'm not making any play for D'Hara!" said Richard, but the man ignored him, his gaze never straying from Kahlan's face.

Her eyes flashed sharp as her daggers. "And so you thought to kill him?" she asked.

"Yes." He cowered at the look on her face, tugging on the ragged ends of his greasy hair. "Or capture one of his companions to lure him into a trap."

"Capture?" Cara scoffed loudly. "No one captures a Mord-Sith."

The confessed man pawed at the dirt, groveling his way closer to his mistress. Richard lifted the point of his sword – if the man so much as touched Kahlan's skirts, he would be asking for death. "Please," he whined. "Say you forgive me, Mistress? I want to stay and serve you."

Kahlan's face was blank. She flicked a bloodstained dagger towards the dead D'Harans. "Are there others out there still helping with your captain's plan?"

"No," said the man, stopping his wild pleading to answer her as swiftly as possible. Richard well remembered the feeling; as if every question held the weight of the world, and he could never hope to answer soon enough, well enough to be worthy of his mistress. "Captain Mercer hoped to claim D'Hara for himself by killing Richard Rahl," said the man. "But he did not hold much sway with the other officers. Only we were loyal to him. Still, many others think as he did and would be glad for the chance to dispose of the false Lord Rahl."

Kahlan nodded once and turned towards him, her expression changing completely. Her eyes brimmed with worry; her voice was soft and earnest. "Richard, we need to do something about this. You could get killed."

"They're all dead," he countered. "We need to find the Stone of Tears." They'd gone too long without so much as a hint of the stone. It was beginning to feel like the compass changed directions at whim. They'd traveled north and south, east and west though the shortest distance to anywhere was always a straight line. It made no sense. They couldn't go making things worse by wasting time chasing down phantom D'Harans.

"If you had claimed your throne," said Cara, spinning an Agiel lazily by its chain, "you would not have to put up with your own men trying to kill you."

"They're not my men," he said roughly. "D'Hara is nothing to me." Except it was everything. The reminder burned in his blood and on his chest; he was no better than his brother. He was a Rahl. A monster. And his people were monsters. He stepped towards the kneeling soldier, glowering down at him. The man could have captured Kahlan or killed her. Cost her their child. Fury ignited in his heart, and the magic of the sword thundered through him, demanding vengeance. "I should kill him," he growled.

Kahlan looked up in surprise and held out a hand. "Richard, wait."

"He attacked you!" he seethed. "He deserves to die."

"He's confessed, Richard," said Zedd quietly. "He's no harm to anyone now."

Richard whirled around to face his grandfather. "That's not true," he said through gritted teeth. "He can still do great harm."

Zedd's white brows knit together in a frown. A hush fell over their little group, and for a long moment, no one said anything. Kahlan's shoulders tensed, but she did not look his way. The sword's magic seemed about to choke him. "Go from here," she said to the soldier at her feet. "And take up honest work that serves the Creator." With a vow to her, the man was gone, and then suddenly she stood before him, the toes of their boots nearly touching. Richard could see the fire blazing in her blue eyes. "He is harm to no one," she said and walked away to wrench her dagger from the heart of a dead man.

Richard stood there, half blind with rage from the sword and nothing to spend it on. It stayed beneath his skin like a living thing, crawling there until the rage became pain and the pain was rage. He imagined this must be what it felt like to be flayed alive, and the only thought that crossed his mind was that he deserved it. Panting, he slammed the Sword of Truth back into its scabbard.

He jerked his head towards the fallen men, "Burn them, Zedd."

The bodies blackened at the wizard's hands, and as the air turned rancid with the stench of charred flesh and burning hair, Richard started walking again. He didn't wait for the others but stalked ahead, cradling the anger of the sword there like a splinter beneath his skin.

He had not gone far when he heard the sound of someone weeping.

They were traveling through a stretch of open countryside, full of rolling hills and fields running clear to the horizon, so Richard saw nothing until he crested the next hill. When he did, the sight waiting below stopped him in his tracks, damping the sword's fury with a dull wash of horror.

A man knelt sobbing in the middle of a narrow country lane, huddled over a young woman with a pretty face, who looked to be greatly with child. Her head had been hacked nearly all the way off. It lay at an odd angle against her shoulder, the smooth skin of her throat giving away abruptly to a brutal, ruinous gash.

The blood that blossomed all around her head was the brightest red. It left him feeling sick with grief, and his first thought was that Kahlan couldn't see this. But as he turned to stop her, she was already coming to a halt beside him.

"Dear spirits," she whispered, her hand flying to the slight swell in her own belly. And then she went hurrying down the hill, the white sleeves of her dress fluttering behind her. Richard followed after her as the man looked up, blinking at them through his tears. He didn't look much older than the woman, with an untidy shock of tawny hair and a nose a bit too long for his face. His eyes were swollen from crying; his hands and shirt red with blood from clutching her to his chest.

"You know this woman," said Richard.

He snuffled and nodded his head. "Marla," he moaned. "She's my wife."

Cara and Zedd had come running down the hill to join them, and he thought even Cara seemed stunned by the sight of the dead woman. He motioned to her quickly, "Give her the breath of life."

But the Mord-Sith sidled forward, looking down at the body like she was appraising a horse for sale, an eyebrow raised and her lips pursed together. "I can't," she said after a moment. "Her body is ruined."

"No," said Richard. "It's not." The anger of the sword came for him like an undertow, yanking him back into something desperate and furious. Kahlan was standing still as a stone, her face blank and far too pale. His voice hitched, "Bring her back."

"I can't!" said Cara. "Her windpipe's been severed. Her soul will be unable to return."

But he looked down at the woman's swollen belly, and all he could see was Kahlan there in her place, her life's blood feeding the ground, their child dead inside her. "Give her the breath of life, Cara," he ordered.

She took a half-step towards the body and rocked back on her heel, hesitating. Overhead, the sky was a beautiful shade of blue that no one noticed. She glanced his way once more, but when he said nothing, she knelt down beside Marla's body in the blood and the dirt. Her hair swung forward as she exhaled, lips parting to release a shimmering, smoky breath into the dead woman's mouth.

They all waited for an answering breath that never came; the woman was dead and would stay that way. Cara straightened up and shot him a pointed look. For a long time, no one spoke.

And then Zedd stooped down, gripping the widowed man's shoulder with a bony hand. "Who did this to her?" he asked in a quiet, sympathetic voice. The young man looked up but kept sobbing, no words finding their way out.

"The D'Harans," said Richard. "It must have been them."

Cara spun around, "D'Harans would not do this."

"They start wars," he said. "They give birth to tyrants. Capture innocent girls and torture them into killing their fathers. They are monsters capable of this."

Cara's face went blank, and she said nothing more. It was the weeping man who finally spoke, "Wasn't D'Harans." He wiped at his tears, smearing his wife's blood across his cheeks. He didn't seem to notice. "Just one man…if you can call him that. Spirits only know what he was. He had sores all over him. Strips of rotting flesh hanging right off his face."

"A baneling," said Zedd. "One of the dead souls sent back by the Keeper to kill for a living."

"That's what it was then," said the man. "A baneling. We were just going for a walk. Marla, she'd been getting pains in her back a lot because it was getting so close to the birth." A sob broke through his words, and he was silent a moment, his shoulders shaking. "But taking walks helped it some, she said, so I was taking her for a walk. Just down the lane and back." He gestured towards a little two room cottage tucked away at the far end of the lane. It looked simple and secluded and rather like the sort of home Richard used to imagine he'd settle down in some day.

"Just a walk," said the man again in a wobbly voice. He stroked his dead wife's hair with a trembling hand. "There's not too many people round these parts, but everyone's always been friendly enough, so I didn't think anything of it when I first saw the man. His face frightened me, but Marla thought he must be ill and was going to offer him some of her ointments. He had an axe with him like for chopping firewood. It happened so fast. He pulled it out and he swung, he, he—" The man looked back at Marla's ruined throat and covered his face with his hands, letting out a keening cry.

Richard crouched down beside him, all too aware that Kahlan still had not moved. Her hand had fallen away from her stomach, and hung limply at her side. Her face showed nothing at all. "Did you see which way the baneling went?" he asked.

The young man lifted his head again, his gaze landing on the sword at Richard's hip. "You're the Seeker," he said in a tone of sudden realization. He twisted around to gape at Kahlan. "Then you're the Mother Confessor?"

She gave a nod, "I am."

Still leaking tears, he hunkered down into an awkward bow. "Forgive me, Mother Confessor, I…"

"It's all right," she interrupted softly. "There's no need for that. Do you have any idea which way the baneling went?"

The man snuffled, pointing a shaky arm down the lane away from the cottage. He wiped the snot from his nose onto his shirt sleeve. "That way."

"Then Kahlan, you take Zedd and go after him," said Richard. "He can't have gotten far. Cara, you stay here and help me." They nodded, and Kahlan and Zedd hurried off together, leaving them alone with the dead woman and her weeping husband. The blood on the ground was starting to dry. A crow cawed loudly overhead as it flew by.

"Why didn't you send me after the baneling?" demanded Cara as soon as Zedd and Kahlan disappeared from view over the first hill. "She's already had to fight today."

Richard looked up with a humorless smile. "Are you worried about her, Cara?"

She gave an indignant huff. "I just don't like it when we have to slow down. Now she'll be tired again."

"Kahlan can handle it," he said and glanced back at the dead woman's belly, still trying to decide if he should even suggest what he was considering. "It's better for her to go and be tired than stay and see more of this."

The Mord-Sith frowned. "She sounded fine. She wasn't upset."

"She was. You have to look in her eyes to see it."

The man beside them spoke in a stuttering voice, "If I've given offense, forgive me. I should've recognized her. I should've bowed. My Marla would be scolding my ears off for forgetting to bow to the Mother Confessor." He wiped at his bleary eyes, smearing more blood across his cheeks.

"No." Richard reached out, gripping the man's shoulder. "It's nothing like that. You haven't offended Kahlan. It's just that…she's with child as well, and-" He trailed off with a helpless shrug; he had no words for what he'd seen in her eyes.

"Oh," gasped the man. "Oh, I see." Fresh tears spilled down his face. He rocked back and forth on his heels, moaning as he stared at his wife's body. "Why didn't it kill me too? If it kills to stay alive, why not me?"

"Banelings have to kill every day," said Cara with a shrug. "He probably intends to come back and kill you tomorrow."

The man let out a pitiful sob and crumpled around Marla, clutching her hair in his fists. "Cara," hissed Richard in a low voice. The Mord-Sith merely looked puzzled. She gave another shrug and wandered further down the path, her Agiels at the ready.

Richard turned back to the man. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Bran," he said in a hollow voice.

"Okay, Bran. I know we can't do anything for your wife, but…" Richard closed his eyes a moment. Spirits help him if he'd lost his mind here. He forced himself to keep going and said, "We might be able to save your child."

"What? How?" Bran sat up, suddenly alert. "Marla's dead. So the babe is too."

He pressed a hand to the pretty woman's cheek, her flesh soft and yielding against his. "She's still warm," he said quietly, his stomach roiling as he let his gaze drift to her nearly severed neck. "If the blade hadn't done so much damage to her throat, the breath of life would have brought her back. It should still do it for the child." His hand shook as he gestured at her swollen belly. "But I'd have to cut into her some to get the baby. I'm not sure it will work."

Bran was silent a moment, but then he nodded his head. "Do it. Marla would want you to try. She loved that baby more than anything."

"All right," said Richard. "You might want to look away." Bran turned his back but took up his wife's lifeless hand, clasping it between his own larger ones. Richard pulled his knife out of his belt. It felt unsteady in his hands, the tip trembling a little as he loomed over Marla's body. He couldn't bring himself to lift her skirts, so he slit the fabric instead, tearing a gash across her middle until the taut, smooth skin of her naked belly glowed in the sunlight.

"All right," he said again, this time to no one but himself. His throat felt dry, his tongue too large for his mouth. He forced all thoughts of Kahlan from his mind with an effort equivalent to heaving a boulder one handed into the sky. Slowly, Richard let his knife bite into the dead woman's flesh, trying to ignore the gush of blood and the warm, slimy feeling of her innards against his hands. The stench of blood was overwhelming. Gritting his teeth, he began to grope blindly for the child.

"How do you even know how to do this?" asked Cara incredulously. She'd wandered back and now sat peering right over his shoulder, her breath hot and irritating against his neck.

Richard's hands stilled. "I grew up on a farm. I helped a neighbor do this once to save a calf when the cow died." But he'd just been a wide-eyed boy watching from behind his fingers in shock and fear and amazement, and that had only been a cow. Now, when he felt what he was certain was a tiny foot against his palm, he almost started shaking. The knife clattered to the ground and Richard leaned forward, somehow managing to ease the lifeless body from its mother's torn womb without dropping it.

"Cara," he urged. Bran had turned around and sat staring at the blue infant through watery eyes. Cara scooted closer, her lips parting to release another strange, smoky wisp of magic into the tiny, rosebud mouth of the babe.

For a moment that felt endless, there was nothing, and then the small mouth parted further and gasped in a breath of its own.

Richard looked down to find a little boy writhing in his arms, eyes slitting open as he let out an impressive shriek. "He's alive," he murmured, dizzy with relief. He passed Bran his newborn son, and the young man clutched the infant to his chest, weeping openly as he stumbled over his thanks again and again. Richard only nodded and turned back to Marla, tugging the ruined remains of her dress back up to cover her as best he could.

"He's here, Marla," said Bran through his tears. "He's here." He curled towards the body of his dead wife, lying down in the dirt beside her severed head. The infant wept and wailed along with his father – just a slimy, wriggling thing in his arms. Richard could not help but stare at them, the fury of the sword now long gone cold. It seemed he sat an eternity fighting against his tears before Zedd and Kahlan reappeared, dragging a tall, redheaded man between them.

They cast him to the ground and Cara leapt up, looming over the captive like a bird of prey, an Agiel in each fist.

"Spirits, what happened here?" gasped Kahlan, looking from Richard to the child and back again. He glanced down, only then remembering that his hands were coated in Marla's blood.

It was Bran who answered in a quavering voice. "They saved my son. The Seeker and his friend, they saved my son, Mother Confessor." He straightened up, holding the child out to her.

"They did?" Kahlan knelt down and brushed a finger against the infant's tiny cheek. "He's beautiful…" She breathed the words, and when she looked up again, her eyes were wet. Richard stared at her helplessly; all he wanted to do was hold her. He wiped his bloodied hands on the grass instead, and she gestured towards the silent prisoner. "Is this the man that murdered your wife?" she asked Bran. "We found him not far from here."

"Cleaning a bloodied axe," added Zedd, tossing the weapon onto the dirt road.

Bran stood up, still cradling his son to his chest. "Yes," he said in a cold, solemn voice. "His flesh is healed, but I would know that face anywhere. I'll never forget it as long as I live."

"The rot heals when they kill," said Zedd. The baneling had got to his feet and stood unmoving, make no effort to fight or plead for his life. His eyes were trained on Kahlan more faithfully than a confessed man's. Though Cara had him under her Agiels, Richard couldn't help the unease that crept over him as he watched the baneling watching Kahlan.

Kahlan seemed not to notice, and drew closer to Bran, asking his name and giving him the tender, understanding smile of the Mother Confessor comforting one of her people. She laid a hand on his arm, speaking softly, "If it's all right with you, Bran, I want to confess him. We've never had a confessed baneling before. Perhaps he knows something that could be of some use to us in sealing the rift."

Richard felt a swell of admiration for the swift, clever way her mind worked – he never would have thought of confessing a baneling for answers.

Bran just scowled at the man, and told her they could do whatever they needed to him. Cara stepped out of the way, but kept her Agiels up as Kahlan moved towards the baneling. He watched her with hard gray eyes, his face as slack and expressionless as his red hair was vibrant.

A chill ran down Richard's spine as the baneling's mouth suddenly spread in a hollow, mocking grin. "How grows the child, Mother Confessor?" he asked, shoving a large, rough hand against Kahlan's belly. "The Keeper will have it and you, soon enough."

Richard unsheathed the Sword of Truth, its anger pouring into his veins and mixing with his own outrage, both demanding the baneling's death. But Kahlan's hand was already clamped around the man's neck, and she yanked him to her by the throat.

"Not before I kill you," she hissed. Her bright blue eyes slammed to black, and the air crackled with the force of confession. But even as she released her power, dark, menacing laughter – laughter that he remembered from his dream – rippled through the air. The baneling disintegrated, crumbling into ash and pouring through her outstretched hand.

* * *

_Sorry this chapter took so long, you guys! The next one might be a little late too. I'm graduating college on Saturday so I'm crazy busy right now packing, celebrating and saying goodbye to friends. But I'll post it as soon as I possibly can!_


	13. Innocent

**XIII. INNOCENT**

Kahlan staggered back a step as her eyes returned to their normal blue. "What just happened?" she gasped.

Zedd peered down at the pile of ashes that had been a man moments before. "The souls of banelings belong irrevocably to the Keeper," he said. "Perhaps this stops them from being taken by your magic." He squatted in the dirt, poking at the mound with a long, gnarled finger, "Or perhaps the Keeper called this one back to keep us from learning what it would say."

Richard still held the Sword of Truth at the ready; his heart had yet to stop pounding wildly in his chest. He stepped closer to her. "Are you all right? Did he do anything to you?"

"No," said Kahlan with a shake of her head. "Nothing." Slowly, she lowered the hand she'd wrapped around the baneling's throat, wiping the remaining traces of ash from her palm. "I'm fine," she promised in a faint voice, squaring her shoulders as she spoke. But he could see the effort it took for her to pull everything back behind the calm exterior of the Mother Confessor. The baneling's words had shaken her as much as they had him. She rubbed a hand over her belly, as if to reassure herself the child was still there, and then she looked to Bran.

He had collapsed once more beside his wife's body, and sat stroking her hair with one hand and cradling their son in the other. Kahlan's eyes filled with tears that she blinked away. "We have to help him," she said in a fierce whisper before going to Bran's side and kneeling down herself, heedless of the blood and the dirt.

In the end, they built a funeral pyre atop one of the rolling hills. All around them the fields were golden and full of the harvest, and the sky was as blue as a robin's egg. It would have been a beautiful day but for the young woman they surrendered to the flames. The infant wailed as if he already knew his loss. The rest of them stood in silence, watching as the fire burned higher and higher.

When the pyre had at last been consumed, the body lost forever to billowing smoke and flame, Bran turned around on shaky feet. He looked to Kahlan, her hood as white as snow against the dark of her hair, and spoke, "My Marla would have been honored to have you here, Mother Confessor. She loved you so." He drew in a wet, heavy breath still full of tears. "Always wanted to go to Aydindril to meet you, she did."

"I would have loved to have met her," said Kahlan with a warm, sad, beautiful smile. Richard watched in quiet amazement how she drew closer to the widower, forgetting her own fears and worries to comfort him. It was hard to fathom, and yet somehow easy to accept that all of the Midlands followed her word as law.

Bran was nodding, smoothing a dirty hand over his son's head. "She'd be glad too to know there's going to be more Confessors, if you don't mind my saying so," he said in a hesitant voice. "She's been worried your kind was going to be no more, and Marla always said the Midlands needs a Mother Confessor, or we men will get to forgetting the Creator's a woman. I told her we're not so foolish as that, but she never believed me." He chuckled a little as his eyes filled with tears.

The corner of Kahlan's mouth twitched up into a half-smile. "Your wife must have been a remarkable woman," she said as she pushed her hood back. The wind caught her hair immediately, whipping it about. Behind her, the flames danced and crackled, and her smile faded. "Not too many people feel that way about Confessors."

Bran's ears turned red, and he looked down at his feet, shuffling them back and forth. "I know," he muttered. "Used to be one of them myself. Used to be so scared a Confessor would come along one day and decide to confess me, but my Marla told me not to be afraid. That I was a good man, and Confessors wouldn't take honorable men as mates."

Richard watched as Kahlan smiled at the widower despite his clumsy words about something he knew only brought her pain. He could never understand how other men feared her for her magic; being confessed to her seemed a small price to pay for her love. She laid a gentle hand on Bran's arm. "That's right," she told him. "You're quite safe."

Bran gave her a watery smile. "It's a pity there's no other way for Confessors. Seems wrong someone as nice as you can't have an honorable man to be father to your child."

Richard felt his face burn, and he turned away, staring out at the smoke and the rolling hills. He could feel Kahlan's eyes on him, beseeching him to look at her. Instead, he reached for the Sword of Truth, gripping the hilt hard enough to make his knuckles ache. He welcomed the hot, angry magic, pulling a constant trickle from the sword until it throbbed and wounded like a barb beneath his skin.

"No," said Kahlan, and he heard her though he tried not to listen. He could tell by the tone of her voice that her cheeks had flushed pink. "It's different for me. The Seeker is my child's father."

"You confessed the Seeker?" asked Bran, shock momentarily erasing the constant note of grief from his voice.

"No, no, of course not. We, ah…" Kahlan paused, and Richard's shoulders shook with the magic of the sword coursing through him. He wished it would get easier, but it never did. The days and nights he'd spent merciless at the end of Denna's Agiel had been far, far easier to bear than this. "We found another way," said Kahlan quietly, and he felt like a coward when he just stood there and let her leave it at that. He wondered what Bran would think of the Seeker if he knew the truth, knew that he had pinned the Mother Confessor to the ground and raped her while she wept.

The fury of the sword escalated unchecked at the memory until, for a moment, he could not see for the agony. He stood there blind and trembling on the hilltop, the air still strong with the smell of the burning dead.

"That's nice," Bran was saying. "That's what's important. Like my Marla. I, I don't know what I'm going to do without…" His curiosity faded quickly in the face of his loss, leaving his voice hollow. "She can't really be gone…"

As Kahlan began to comfort the young man again, the anger and pain from the sword abated some. The hills glimmered green and golden as they drifted back into focus. But his heart was still a painful thing inside his chest, and he fled with it, slipping away from the group to walk down the hill alone.

He wandered around the outside of Bran's simple cottage, trying not to imagine what it would be like to share such a home with Kahlan. The trees that ringed the cottage were crowned with leaves of red and gold, and they rustled every time the wind blew. The air felt charged with grief. When his eyes landed on a nearly depleted stack of firewood, Richard hunted down the widower's axe and threw himself into the task of rebuilding the pile. He thought it might be a long time before Bran could bear to look at another axe, and he was happy for the work.

He paused to yank off his shirt as he began to sweat with the effort, and then fell back into the task, letting the splitting of logs consume him. His body took over for his mind, muscles flexing and straining in a well remembered rhythm of swing and chop. For a blessed hour, he thought of nothing but the task before him.

When he was finished, he felt a little better. Grief and anger had dulled, retreating into dormancy once more. Richard ducked his head in a barrel of rainwater to wash away the sweat, and then went around the front to look for the others, pulling his shirt on as he walked. The door to the cottage stood open, and it was Kahlan he found when he looked inside.

She didn't see him at first, and for a moment he was free to stare at her unnoticed. She stood turned sideways to the door so he could see the swell of their babe in her belly just beginning, and in her arms she held Bran's son. Pressing her lips to the infant's brow, Kahlan cooed some soft, indistinguishable sound, soothing him. It seemed to Richard that he intruded on something private and holy – some side of her that no one saw. And yet he knew it was every bit as much the true Kahlan as the warrior with her glinting daggers he'd fallen in love with.

She turned around then, surprise flashing across her face when she saw him, replaced quickly by a smile. "There you are," she said and tilted her head towards the fireplace, "Help me with that water?"

Richard nodded and crossed the threshold, avoiding her eyes to study his feet instead. He did as she asked, bringing water from a kettle on the hearth and pouring some into a bowl for her. A rush of steam filled the air, and she dropped a cloth into the bowl as well, swishing it around with a fingertip.

"Zedd's with Bran outside," she said in a soft voice. "He doesn't know what to do for the baby at all without his wife, so I said I'd wash him up for him. Cara's gone to see if there's someone at one of the farms nearby that could stay with them for awhile."

As she spoke, Kahlan eased the infant down onto a folded towel she'd arranged on the table. He fussed a moment, waving tiny fists in the air, but then quieted. Richard stood to the side and tried to think of something to do with his hands. He picked up a pitcher only to set it down again, then he lifted a mug, only to abandon it too. Finally, he gave up, letting them hang awkward and useless at his side. Kahlan didn't seem to notice. She was busy testing the water, her lips pursed together as she considered the temperature. She said nothing of how he'd disappeared without a word, though he knew he deserved it, and he loved her all the more for that.

She wrung out the cloth, the excess water splattering back into the bowl, and began to wipe the baby clean, humming what sounded like a lullaby as she worked. It wasn't hard to imagine her doing this for their unborn daughter, and somehow, nothing had ever seemed more right to him than that. Something ancient and instinctive stirred in his heart as he watched her, and he rested a hand against the sword at his hip. She was love embodied and his child grew inside her; her safety came before the world's.

"Bran named him Richard," said Kahlan when she stopped to wet the cloth again. "Because you saved his life."

"Oh…"

She pushed her hair back with a damp hand and glanced his way. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No," said Richard softly. He took a step closer to the table, looking down at the child. He was small and wrinkled and red. He was innocent and good. "I'm honored, but I don't-"

"Spirits help me, Richard, if you say you don't deserve it," she interrupted in a suddenly sharp, shaky voice. "You do. More than anyone, you do."

He swallowed the words he'd been about to say and cleared his throat. "I've never had anyone name a baby after me before."

She gave a nod but didn't look up, and they were both silent as she finished bathing the other Richard. "There are cloths folded in the cradle," she said at last. "Would you bring me one?" He hurried to do as she asked, and she took the cloth from him with a fleeting smile. "Marla had everything ready for him," she murmured, lifting the infant from the towel to swaddle him in the fresh cloth.

And then Kahlan was easing the baby into his arms almost before he knew what was happening. "You should hold him," she whispered. "Seeing as you're his namesake." But her voice trembled as she spoke, and when he looked up, her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Kahlan?"

She shook her head and turned away, picking up the washcloth. She wrung it out again and again until not a drop of water was left. Kahlan wept easily these days – though she always tried to hide it – but something told him this time meant more.

"Kahlan," he pleaded, rocking the infant in his arms. "What's wrong?"

She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. "It's my fault he has no mother."

Richard blinked his astonishment, "What are you talking about? How could that possibly be your fault?"

"Marla was with child," she said, letting out a little moan. "You know the prophecy! What if the baneling killed her because he thought she might have been me?"

"You look nothing alike. She was a farmer's wife and days away from giving birth, and you're not at all…" He stopped abruptly as he looked down at her belly, his tongue knotting itself and his cheeks flushing. "There's no way he mistook her for the Mother Confessor," he amended.

A solitary tear rolled down Kahlan's face to drip from her chin. "Still…"

"Kahlan, banelings kill every day!" said Richard. He lowered his voice when the baby began to fuss in his arms. "That man would've killed someone today, no matter what. And even if he attacked Marla in some desperate hope it might be you and he'd earn the Keeper's favor, that was his choice. You can't blame yourself for the wicked things other people do."

Kahlan gave him a thin lipped smile and nodded her head. "You're right." She wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. "I know you're right. It's just what happened to her and Bran was so awful. No one should have to suffer that." She brushed away another tear as it started to fall and said, "We have to find the Stone of Tears soon. We have to fix this. I don't know what I'd do if another child lost its mother because of me."

"We'll find the stone soon," said Richard, trying not to think of how the compass led them in circles. "I promise we will."

"Okay," she said, and he could tell she was satisfied with his promise, empty as it was. It was yet another reason why he couldn't fail – failing Kahlan would be worse than failing the world. She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to the infant's puckered brow. "Richard?" she said quietly.

"What is it?" he asked.

She was so near to him, her warmth washing over him. The sunlight from the window played across her face, and though he saw her every day, her beauty still entranced him. "You'll be like Bran, right, and raise our daughter by yourself if something happens to me?"

Richard felt his heart clench. "Nothing is going to happen to you."

"We don't know that." She leaned closer and began fussing with the swaddling cloth. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "You heard what the baneling said."

"Nothing is going to happen to you," he said again. "I won't let it."

Kahlan shook her head and stared at the child instead of him, tracing a tiny ear with her fingertip. "If a Confessor dies before her children are grown, the Mother Confessor is supposed to see that they are taken away from their father. When the Midlands was at war with D'Hara, Aydindril got sloppy about things like that. The way Dennee and I were raised, the way…" She hesitated, drawing in a shaky breath before saying, "the way Annabelle was raised – it's not supposed to happen that way. Unconfessed men aren't seen as fit to raise their Confessor daughters because too often they hold what was done to them against those daughters."

He knew she was speaking from the bitterest of personal experience. The wounds her father dealt her ran deep; it was plain in her voice how much effort it took for her to speak of him at all.

Kahlan finally raised her head to look at him, "I'm not saying it's like that with us, Richard. I know it's different, but you didn't get a choice either and…" Tears brimmed in her eyes and hung like pearls from her eyelashes. "Please…tell me that you'll love her?"

He wondered that she would even need to ask. "Kahlan, I already do."

"Really?" she said in a small, wobbly voice.

Richard nodded. "Yes."

She pressed her hand to the infant's cheek, tears spilling down her face as she smiled at him. "Me too," she whispered. Though the baby slept, he stirred at her touch, latching onto her finger with the whole of a tiny fist. Kahlan laughed softly in delight. It was the happiest sound he'd heard all day.


	14. Guilty

**XIV. GUILTY**

Kahlan wiped the blood from her dagger with a handful of dry leaves. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Zedd setting banelings on fire, their rotting flesh now burning to a crisp. There had been five of them, by the looks of it some bizarre family of the living dead. An old grizzled man who'd hobbled forward with a knife, a man and a woman in middle age, a younger woman no older than herself, and a young man – a boy really – tall and gawky. He couldn't have been much more than sixteen.

Even with the flesh hanging from their bodies, it had been impossible to miss their shared coloring, their matching features. She wondered which one of them had planned to go without a kill, and how they'd died the first time.

Cara had killed the boy. In the past, she would have told herself it was because the Mord-Sith was without feelings – that she could kill a child without remorse. But banelings had to die. They were barely half an hour's walk from a village full of unsuspecting people. Especially after what had been done to Marla, the boy could not be allowed to run free. From the moment she saw him rushing madly towards them with his knife, Kahlan knew they would have to kill him or tie him up and leave him for dead. She almost wanted to thank Cara for sparing the rest of them the hardest task.

Kahlan slipped her blade back into her boot, trying to forget the voice of the young woman she'd just killed. The other four had attacked them yelling and screaming, but the woman had been weeping. "Forgive us," she'd wailed. "The Creator has forsaken her children. There is no rest in the Underworld, not for anyone. We had to accept. Forgive us, forgive us. Forgive us." Tears had spilled down the woman's ruined cheeks, but she'd swung her hatchet with wild desperation, and Kahlan had still plunged a dagger into her heart even as she begged.

The words haunted her though, as did the idea of a whole family of banelings. By the silence that smothered their group, she thought she was perhaps not the only one troubled. She straightened up to find Zedd walking her way, the bodies now blackened beyond recognition.

"How are you, dear one?" he asked, laying a weathered hand on her shoulder. "We can stop at the village ahead if you need a rest. I think it's Kinsley we're approaching."

Kahlan shook her head and said, "I'm fine, Zedd. We can keep going." Although she was a little tired, she felt better than she had in months. Her nausea had stopped abruptly not two weeks before, and she no longer spent her mornings lightheaded and weak. She was getting more and more sluggish with her blades though; her growing belly made it impossible for her to move as swiftly as she had before. It hadn't mattered up against such few, poor fighters, but it made her uneasy all the same. Especially because she knew Richard would have noticed, and he already carried around worry enough.

Zedd nudged her with a bony elbow, his voice turning conspiratorial, "But what if I want something more for my supper than stewed roots we've dug up along the way? Like a nice roast from the finest inn Kinsley has to offer?" He waggled his brow at her. "Boiled potatoes and carrots on the side?"

She laughed and shook her head. "I know better than to come between you and your stomach. We can stop if you wish, but not on my account."

"Very well." He winked at her, "When we stop, I'll make sure to tell Richard it's because of my belly, not yours."

They started off again without much more discussion. As usual, Richard did not wait, but stalked ahead, a lone figure silhouetted against the slate sky and rolling hills of browning grass. He was often in a dark mood these days, and never more so than after using the sword. Its magic seemed to take longer and longer to fade from his eyes, and he would turn distant and short tempered for hours at a time.

Zedd stayed beside her as they walked and leaned closer, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. "I'm worried about Richard," he said as if he'd read her thoughts.

Kahlan looked up into the old wizard's familiar, wrinkled face. "Me too," she admitted. Richard strode so far ahead, his head bowed and his hand clenched around the Sword of Truth, and she did not know how to get him back.

They walked a little further – down one muddy, forlorn hill and up another – before Zedd spoke again. "Have you noticed how he's been pulling from the sword?"

She could only frown at that, "Pulling from the sword? What do you mean?"

"Calling on the rage in it," said Zedd, lifting the hem of his robe as he stepped over a mud puddle. "It used to be there when he fought, to an extent. Anger is in the nature of the Sword of Truth, after all, but not like this. Now he pulls the rage from the sword whether there are enemies around or not. He wears it as close as his clothes."

She knew exactly what he spoke of. She'd seen the magic burning there like a darker flame in his dark eyes. When she said as much, Zedd nodded, "He's channeling the full magic of the sword as easily as a wizard touches his han. I could never have taught him this. It's a tool the Seeker can only call on by instinct, if the need is great enough."

Kahlan allowed herself a twinge of hope at that. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing then? He's the Seeker. It's good for him to learn more about the sword."

Zedd heaved a sad, weary sigh. She could feel him studying her out of the corner of his eye, and it was several steps before he spoke again, "The first time I ever saw him use the sword this way was right after Annabelle's hold on him had been broken."

"Oh…" Kahlan stared at the ground before her feet and walked a little faster. She had no desire to return to that day, not even in memory, but Zedd went on.

"I'd never before had my own grandson look at me with so much anger in his eyes. So much of it for me."

Her mouth dropped open at that, and a chill ran down her spine. She remembered well the night Richard had told her about killing Zedd. All her life, she'd listened to men confess their darkest deeds and desires to her, but none of it had ever hurt to hear so much as that. She'd locked the words away in her heart and tried not to think of them.

Zedd was watching her, a knowing look on his face. "I see you've noticed the change as well." He smoothed a hand down the ornate sleeve of his wizard's robe, fidgeting with the cuff. When he spoke he sounded weary and suddenly very, very old, his voice like the sad and lonely dust in some ancient grave. "Richard blames me for what happened to you, dear one. And perhaps he should. I'd welcome the blame if it meant he'd stop blaming himself, but he doesn't."

"I've tried!" cried Kahlan in desperation. "I've tried everything I can think of to get him to stop. He was confessed! I've told him a thousand times, Zedd. He would have killed me if she'd asked it. But he doesn't understand."

"He understands," said Zedd with a heavy sigh. "Logically, he does. But emotionally, I fear he cannot. He has never held anyone as dear as he holds you. Richard would sooner face eternal torment at the Keeper's hands than hurt you, and yet, that is what he's done."

The wind whipped her hair around into her eyes, and she shoved it away with a frustrated hand. It took an effort to speak around the twisted knot of tears growing in her throat, and all she managed was a cracked whisper when she said, "He hasn't hurt me. That day was my doing. I have never blamed him."

Not once. Not for a moment. Not even while it was happening. She couldn't. She was a Confessor, and she knew too well exactly what had been done to his mind. It still sickened her to remember how completely she'd lost him to Annabelle. How he'd looked at her without any of the love for her she was so used to seeing in his eyes. She hadn't realized how desperately she needed it to survive before she'd looked up at him and found it gone.

Zedd nodded, the furrows in his brow deepening into troubled grooves. "And therein lies our problem," he said quietly. "I think a part of Richard would like it if you blamed him. If you yelled at him, punished him. Made him pay for what he sees as his crime. But you haven't. Not one of us has."

He looked ahead to where Richard still walked alone, and Kahlan could hear the pain in the old wizard's voice, the pain of a grandfather for his grandson. "The only one left to be as angry at Richard as he feels he deserves is Richard, and I fear he has begun to use the Sword of Truth to help him in that task. He has learned how to summon the deadly fury of the sword at will, but instead of using it to destroy a foe, he turns it all against himself."

Kahlan could feel each pounding beat her heart took. "He'll stop. He'll get control of the sword. Richard can do anything."

"I hope you're right, dear one. How I hope you're right." Zedd's pale eyes darkened to storm clouds. "That is powerful magic he's punishing himself with, and if he continues this way indefinitely, he will break his mind. He'll lose himself to the madness of his grief. And then he will take that blade and either use it to kill me or himself. Perhaps both."

She gripped Zedd's arm, panic closing like a vice around her. Richard's confession to her and the feel of his hot tears on her neck that night filled her mind. "If it gets to that, if he comes at you with the sword, you must use your magic and stop him."

"No, child," said Zedd, laying his hand over her smaller one. "If it gets to that point, I will have had a hand in destroying my own grandson. I will meet my fate."

Kahlan felt angry worlds bubbling on the tip of her tongue, and she wrenched her hand free. "This isn't fair to him! I'm the one who agreed to Annabelle's plan. It was me. Not him. He should blame me." She would rather Richard despise her the rest of his life than watch him destroy himself with the Sword of Truth.

But Zedd just gave her a small, sad smile. "He will never blame you. Every action Richard takes is defined by you." A tired chuckle escaped his lips, "It's surprisingly like confession – the way he loves you."

Kahlan wrapped her arms tight around herself and said nothing. The two were nothing alike. If Zedd had ever once known the empty, meaningless love of someone confessed, he would not be able to compare the two and find them remotely equal.

She looked out at the dead grass that covered the hillside, watching the landscape blur beyond her unshed tears. Zedd reached a long, skinny arm around her and pulled her into a hug, she slumping willingly against his side. "I've burdened you enough with the worries of an old man," he said in a low, soothing voice. "Richard is strong. We must have faith in him and help him where we can. I'm sure it will all work out." She knew he was coddling her with his words, just as he had ever since she'd lain with Richard, but she couldn't bring herself to mind this time.

"Run ahead," he added with a tilt of his head. "And see if you can't get him to let go of that sword of his before we reach Kinsley."

Kahlan needed no more encouragement than that. She hurried down the hill at the fastest run she could manage, her heart still a wild thing inside her breast. Now that she understood why he was doing it, she wanted to reach out and yank Richard's hand away from the Sword of Truth. Instead, she called his name, and when he heard it, he turned and waited for her to catch up. His fingers tightened around the hilt, and she saw a look of pain flash deep in his eyes.

She tried to sound cheerful anyway and said, "Zedd wants to stop at the village inn for supper. Claims he's tired of living on roots and twigs and needs a proper roast for a change."

"That's not a bad idea," said Richard as he started walking again. "I was actually thinking we should stay the night there."

"You were? Why?" Kahlan didn't bother to hide her surprise. He never suggested they stop at an inn; it wasted too much time they didn't have.

Richard nodded towards a cluster of low, gray clouds on the horizon that had completely escaped her notice. "Those are rainclouds headed this way, and there was frost last night. When the rain comes, it'll be bitter cold at best." It always amazed her how he could know so many things from nothing more than a glance at the sky.

But as warm and welcome as a bed sounded, she liked sleeping close to him on the ground. Close enough to hear his even breathing and see his face looking at peace for a few brief, blessed hours. "We might find some caves to spend the night in," she suggested. "Or we could build a quick shelter."

He frowned at that, "Kahlan, if we're already stopping at the inn, we might as well spend another coin or two and stay dry. If they even make the Mother Confessor pay." It still surprised him a little, she knew, when people insisted she take things for free as Mother Confessor.

"I'm not in my dress."

He looked over at her, an eyebrow raised. "No. Now that I think of it, you haven't worn your Confessor's dress in awhile."

"It doesn't fit anymore," she mumbled. She could only loosen the laces so much before it began to seem ridiculous. Her green traveling dress was a bit more forgiving to her belly, which now poked out enough that she was certain strangers could tell she was with child, instead of just full from a good meal.

Richard's ears reddened. "The green one looks nice too," he said quietly. Kahlan smiled a little, fighting the urge to ask him if he really meant it. She looked ahead to where the village of Kinsley sat nestled between the rolling hills.

"Are you sure you want to stop for the night?" she asked. "It might not rain…"

He didn't even bother to glance at the sky. "It will. Soon. I don't see a reason for all of us to spend a miserable night wet, and wake up with a chill, when we can avoid it so easily." He fixed her with a dark eyed stare and asked, "Is there a reason why you want to sleep in a cave tonight?"

Kahlan twisted her hands together. "It's just that I can't remember the last time I slept alone in a bed. It'll be so quiet. I don't think I'll get any sleep."

Richard frowned and nodded his head, looking like he was considering her words. "Well then you can room with Cara," he said at last. "Actually, that's a good idea. I'll stay with Zedd, and then we won't lose out so much when he has fourth helpings of supper."

"Richard!" His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she softened her tone, asking, "Are you sure that makes sense?"

"Well, I can't very well put Zedd with Cara. We'd never hear the end of it."

"I know. But…" Spirits, how she wanted to share a bed with him. To fall asleep in his arms, her head against his chest and their feet tangled together. A shared blanket, a shared space. She didn't know why it felt like she'd lost when it was something she'd never even had. That sort of life was never meant to be theirs.

Richard stopped walking and faced her. He'd let go of the sword, but she could still see the pain from it lingering in his eyes. On impulse, Kahlan reached out and touched his arm. "What is it, Kahlan?" he asked, his voice gentle with concern.

And there were so many things she could've said. That perhaps it was unwise for him to room alone with a man he'd imagined cleaving in two. Or that he was asking her to share a room with the woman who'd killed her sister. Richard would have flushed and apologized and offered to rearrange the rooms any way she pleased. He would have searched the Midlands all over until he found her a proper cave. She wasn't quite sure why she stayed silent because Cara had killed her sister, and sharing a room alone with the Mord-Sith felt like a daunting prospect, but the words wouldn't come.

Richard was still waiting, so she ended up nodding her head instead. "I guess it makes sense," she heard herself say. "Just for tonight."


	15. Night

**XV. NIGHT**

The first raindrops began to fall as they entered the village, and by the time they were tucked away at a corner table inside the Brown Bottle, a storm was howling madly outside. Kahlan ripped off another hunk of warm, fresh bread and listened to the pitter patter of raindrops against the thick glass windows. The others had agreed easily enough to Richard's plan as soon as the rain began in earnest, and she had to admit it was nice for a change not to have to race to find firewood and complete the evening meal prep before the last of the light faded.

She leaned back in her chair, glad to be warm and dry. Kinsley seemed to be a pleasant place. The inn was full of laughter and occasional, rousing bursts of song, and the cheery atmosphere seeped into her bit by bit. She was about to begin tapping her foot to a song about a maid named Molly and her wooden leg, when Richard leaned forward, his voice close and solemn in the candlelight.

"Those banelings that attacked us were a family."

The sudden reminder turned her meal tasteless, and Kahlan shivered despite the warmth of the room.

"I think they were from this village," he added after finishing a mouthful of roasted lamb. Cara sat up straighter, eyeing the cheerful, drunken customers as if he'd implied the whole inn was full of banelings.

Zedd frowned and tugged on his chin. "Are you certain?"

"I mean to find out," said Richard, and he leaned over in his chair, stopping a barmaid as she passed by with a tray. The young woman cast a doubtful look at Cara in her red leather, but then she settled on Richard, giving him a warm, fluttering, too intimate smile that made Kahlan's heart clench despite her best efforts.

"What can I do for you, darling?" cooed the barmaid, resting a hand on his arm and bending down until she nearly escaped her dress. Richard seemed not to notice to her predicament; Kahlan wondered if his obliviousness was feigned or genuine.

"My grandfather here," he said in a low voice. "I'm afraid he's very superstitious. He believes he'll have nine years bad luck should he stay in a village on a stormy night, if that village has suffered any recent deaths." The barmaid's eyes widened and she looked up at Zedd, who quickly turned sheepish and apologetic, shrugging his bony shoulders and nodding his head. Cara rolled her eyes.

Richard leaned closer to the barmaid and said, "You'd put his mind at ease if you could reassure him Kinsley hasn't suffered any tragedy these past few days."

"Tragedy?" echoed the barmaid, fluttering her eyelashes far more than necessary. Kahlan scowled and stabbed a potato with her knife.

"Yes," said Richard. "Any grave misfortune befallen a family lately?"

The barmaid pursed her lips together, tugging on a curl that had escaped the messy pile she wore her hair in. "No, no, nothing like that. Actually, I have good news for your grandfather!" She beamed at Richard, bouncing a little like an eager puppy, and sending her breasts jouncing right in his face. Kahlan wondered why she didn't just tell Zedd himself. He was seated one chair over, slurping loudly at his tea.

But the barmaid smiled at Richard some more and patted his arm. "Kinsley had its very own miracle from the Creator!" she said proudly. "A boat capsized just yesterday out on the river west of town, and the whole of the Hollings family was aboard. Couldn't anyone get in to find them in time, not with the current so swift as it was. We thought for sure they'd all drowned!"

She paused and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, clearly thrilled to have herself an audience. "But just when the folks down by the river had given up hope, the Hollings came back up to the surface one by one! Even old man Hollings made it out, and everyone knows he can't swim. They were wet and weak and mighty scared, but somehow they all pulled through, thank the Creator!"

"Indeed," muttered Cara, rolling her eyes again.

The barmaid appeared not to hear her. "So tell your grandfather not to worry," she said to Richard. "There's been no tragedy in Kinsley. Quite the opposite." She winked at him, "He can sleep easily tonight.

Richard returned her smile. "Thank you," he said. "You've helped us a great deal."

She started giggling at that, though Kahlan had no idea why, and would have kept going if not for the mug Cara thrust abruptly under her nose. "I need another ale," said the Mord-Sith, her voice a cold, curling thing that sounded like it belonged in a dungeon.

The barmaid blinked down at the mug. "Of course," she stammered, casting a nervous glance at Cara. "Right away." She added the mug to her tray, and then picked up Richard's as well. "I'll get you another too, darling," she said, tossing a bright smile his way. Kahlan frowned as she watched her flounce away through the crowd. She wore her corset laced so tight it looked like Richard could encircle the whole of her waist in his hands.

"Seems you were right, my boy," said Zedd, apparently not even the slightest bit annoyed by the barmaid's antics. "That must have been the Hollings family we met on the road today."

Richard nodded and lowered his voice so much Kahlan had to strain to hear it over all the noise. "None of them seemed used to killing. I thought we might be their first attempt by the way they attacked us. They couldn't bear to kill their own neighbors, so they went for the first group of outsiders they saw." He tugged a hand back through his hair, his brows gathering together in a frown. "What I don't understand is why they all took the deal. A whole family? They would've been reunited in the Underworld. They should have found peace."

"I think that was the problem," said Kahlan quietly. She traced a fingertip round and round the rim of her mug, staring into its depths as she told the others the words of the weeping baneling. Even the memory was enough to send shivers racing down her spine. "Could something like that really be happening, Zedd?" she asked. "The Creator forsaking the souls in the afterlife? I was taught that those who lived as she intended would find eternal peace in her light. That they would be drawn close to the souls of their loved ones." She still remembered her own mother promising her that when she was all of five and her mother lay weak and haggard on her death bed, her confessed father wailing inconsolably in the background.

"As a young wizard, I was taught the same." Zedd popped a ripe tomato into his mouth and chewed a moment. "The afterlife is the next step in the journey; only souls that are weighed down by enormous pain in this life resist moving on. Even with the Keeper offering deals to the greedy, an entire family returning as banelings suggests something is very wrong in the Underworld."

Richard leaned forward on his elbows and said, "When the Veil tore, could it have done something to the Underworld itself? Upset the balance there?"

Zedd gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "As far as I know, nothing like this has ever happened before, but I fear you may be right. The Keeper is gaining power in our world. In the Underworld, he can move much more freely. It seems likely he has already conquered the world of the dead completely and is robbing the spirits of their rest."

Kahlan shuddered and thought of Dennee and her mother. Of the little nephew she'd held for what felt like no more than a fleeting moment. They all had loved ones there. She had prayed that they found peace.

"But the Stone of Tears will fix this," said Cara simply. She spoke as if it sat waiting for them around the next bend in the road.

"Yeah," muttered Richard. Kahlan didn't have to look up to know the magic of the sword shone dark and painful in his eyes. "I have to find it first." He stood up abruptly, his plate clattering against Zedd's mug. The sound unsettled her. "I'm going to see to the rooms," he said in a sharp, clipped voice. "The sooner we get to bed, the sooner we can get back to searching tomorrow."

Zedd shot her a troubled look as Richard strode away to talk to the squat, smiling innkeeper. Kahlan sat and picked at her plate, pushing the lamb and vegetables around with a hunk of bread. She forgot to feel any triumph at the look on the barmaid's face when she pranced back with Richard's drink and saw he wasn't there.

The door banged shut behind them and Kahlan flinched. "There's one bed," Cara stated.

"I can see that," she said, staring at the mattress. It was quite large. Nothing compared to her bed in Aydindril, but they would have more than enough room to themselves. Still, it brought back her earlier thoughts, and she stood still, staring at the bed, trying to imagine what it would be like to share it with Richard.

Cara seemed to mistake her silence for hesitation because she cleared her throat and said, "Richard put me in here to guard you and his child. I'll stand by the door tonight."

She sighed and turned around. "Don't be silly, Cara. The door locks. We should both get some sleep. Besides, it's a big bed."

The Mord-Sith tilted her head, considering this. "Then I'll take the side closest to the door," she said.

"That's fine." Kahlan walked around to the far side of the bed and dropped her pack on the floor. "When we were little, Dennee and I would share a bed, and I always took-" She trailed off as she realized what she was saying. She couldn't bear to think about Dennee. Not tonight. "I'm used to this side," she mumbled.

Cara said nothing and stayed by the door, her hair in her face as she studied a spot on the floor like it held instructions on better protecting Richard. "I'm going downstairs for another ale," she announced to the dingy floor. "It's hardly dark yet."

Kahlan nodded at the key sitting on the washstand. "Take the key then. I'll lock the door if I go to bed."

Cara snatched it up in a hurry, only to hesitate in the doorway with a funny look on her face. But before Kahlan could say anything more, she was gone, and all that was left was an empty room.

As she'd expected, the quiet was unusual after so long in the company of others. Rather than consider how it made her feel, Kahlan set to work filling the washbasin. After she had scrubbed away the dirt from the journey, she took advantage of the chance to wash her hair properly. She took her time, working her fingers against her scalp, building the soap up into a rich lather. When she was through, her hair hung heavy and wet all down her back.

Kahlan settled in front of the grate, letting the fire begin to dry her hair as she picked the tangles from it with a comb. Her traveling dress lay folded on a chair, and she had on the black shift she'd rescued from the bottom of her pack after discovering she could no longer wear her corset comfortably. The shift was snug and a little threadbare in places, but the fabric stretched enough to fit her middle. Laying her head on her knees, Kahlan sat and let the heat from the fire roast her backside, as her front chilled facing the open room.

Below, she could still hear laughter in the tavern, and outside, the moaning wind and the harsh thick-thack of tree branches hitting the roof. With the tangles all gone from her hair, she had no more little tasks to distract her mind, and worries began creeping in again. Before she knew what she was doing, Kahlan was on her feet and headed for the door. She stopped only long enough to snatch the blanket from the foot of the bed and draw it like a robe around her.

Out in the dark, narrow hall, the laughter and music below seemed to swell up around her. She crept to the room next to hers and rapped on the door, holding her breath until it creaked open a crack. Zedd's eye peered out at her, and he opened it wider.

"Dear one, is everything all right?"

"I…" She fidgeted with the ends of her blanket. "Is Richard here?" What a foolish question. Of course he was there. There wasn't anywhere else he could be. Unless he too was down below with the laughter and the noise and the bouncing, giggling barmaid. Zedd was mercifully silent as her thoughts ran rampant, merely raising an eyebrow before stepping back and calling for his grandson.

A moment later, Richard came to the doorway, looking tired and worried. "Kahlan?" he asked. He'd taken his vest off, and his shirt hung open, revealing the start of the mark on his chest. She twisted the end of her blanket into a rope.

"I wanted to talk to you," she stammered. Her mind was far too troubled for sleep, and she missed the way he used to comfort her. She missed him. Kahlan swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, adding, "Alone."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. "What is it?" he asked as he stepped out into the hall.

A man squeezed past them on his way to his room, and she could feel his eyes lingering on her bare skin. The way he leered at her reminded her that she was barely dressed. He probably thought her someone's whore. Richard glowered at the man, his hand going to the hilt of his sword so automatically she doubted he even knew he was doing it. "Come on," he said, and he ushered her back through the open door into her room. He yanked it shut behind them, sealing them off from the world.

She felt suddenly more alone with him than she had in the forest, though the inn was brimming with people below, and in the forest there had only been trees. The four walls closed around them, whittling the world down to her and him and a neatly made bed. Kahlan could feel her heart begin to race. Other than one rickety chair piled high with her things, there was only the bed to sit on, and so she did. Richard stood awkwardly before her, but when she tilted her head towards the mattress, he perched on the opposite end.

He didn't turn to face her, but sat staring straight ahead, his body rigid. Still, his voice when he asked "What's wrong?" was kind and gentle, closer to the man she'd lost.

She picked at the woven threads in the blanket wrapped around her. It was almost easier not to ask, but she thought of her sister and the words tumbled from her lips, "Do you think it could be true? What Zedd said about the Underworld?"

A shadow passed across his face, and at first he didn't answer. When he did, it was with a reluctant nod. "We can't know for sure without going there ourselves, but something isn't right."

"So that means all the dead are suffering? My sister? Your family?"

"I don't know, Kahlan. Spirits, I hope not, but I just don't know." His voice cracked as he spoke, and it struck her that she'd never heard him sound so lost before.

She scooted closer, forgetting her own worries in the face of his. "You're going to find the Stone of Tears," she promised.

Richard gave her a sad, empty smile and pulled out the compass, flicking it open in the palm of his hand. It hummed and clicked, casting a bright blue glow over the dimly lit room. "Now it's telling us to head north again," he said in a bitter voice, scowling down at the runes only he could read. They had walked south much of the previous week.

"It must know what it's doing," she tried to reassure him. "It's meant to guide the Seeker's way."

He snapped the compass shut, his fingers clenching around it. "What if the compass isn't working for me? What if I fail to find the Stone of Tears?"

Kahlan frowned at his words. It was the most she'd heard him give credence to Shota's prediction about the stone. "It's working," she insisted.

"How?" he demanded, his voice suddenly loud and desperate. "The shortest distance between any two points is a straight line! Even allowing for the lay of the land, we shouldn't be meandering this much. We're going in circles, Kahlan," he snapped.

She didn't know what to say. She had come to trust in Richard more than magic, more even than prophecy, but in this she did not want to believe him. "Maybe it's working in a way we don't understand," she said. "Maybe we have to learn something or find someone first before we can get the Stone of Tears."

"Maybe." He sounded utterly unconvinced.

She kicked her boots off and pulled her legs up onto the bed, shifting so she sat cross-legged facing him. "You're the Seeker. If you think it would be better to not use the compass, we will follow you."

Richard pressed his thumb against the little silver orb, staring at it in silence a long time. "No," he said at last. "It's our best option. Our only option." Heaving a sigh, he put the compass away and looked over at her. She could see the fire from the grate reflecting gold in his brown eyes, right alongside all the doubt. "We keep going."

"Okay then." She smiled at him, wishing she knew how to give him back his faith in himself. "You will find the Stone of Tears, Richard," she said again. "I believe in you."

"I know you do." His eyes darkened, taking on the distant, pained look that belonged to the sword. "And every day I ask myself why."

Kahlan looked down at his hand clenched around the Sword of Truth, Zedd's warning ringing in her mind. Letting go of her blanket, she rested a hand on his arm, feeling how tense his muscles were beneath his skin. "Because I know how good you are," she said quietly.

Richard stared at her as if through a haze, saying nothing, a strange look crossing his face. She followed his gaze down to find the blanket she'd been wearing now pooled forgotten on the bed, leaving her in nothing more than her threadbare shift. It had been a long time since he'd seen her so undressed, and she looked far more with child without her dress to help hide the ways she'd changed. By the firestorm dancing in his eyes, Kahlan knew he was doing just as Zedd said, using the magic of the sword against himself.

It made her want to weep.

Instead, wordlessly, she reached out and began to pry his fingers from the hilt. He flinched when she touched him there, but then surrendered to her will. She watched the fury bleed from his eyes and turn to fear as she broke his grip on the sword, and settled his large hand over the swell in her belly.

His fingers trembled against her shift, each breath shuddering past his lips. Outside, sleet slammed like pebbles against the windowpane. "Kahlan…" He sounded for all the world like a scared little boy.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm okay." She closed her hand over his, holding it there so he couldn't pull away. "This is our daughter. You are her father, and I love you."

He shook his head, "You shouldn't."

"Stop it," she hissed, fighting to keep her eyes from filling with tears. "Stop talking and listen to me. I miss you! Do you have any idea how much I miss you? Before I met you, my only friends were other Confessors. And now they're all dead. I know there's Zedd and Cara, but it's not the same. You're my only real friend, Richard." She took a deep breath, but it wasn't enough to make her voice stop shaking. "So if you want to hurt me like you think you have, then keep letting what happened while you were confessed take away my dearest friend."

He looked up, and she knew he was forcing himself to meet her eyes. "But everything's different now," he whispered.

She gripped his hand tighter. "It doesn't have to be." Even she could hear the plea in her voice.

Richard sighed, surrendering, "I'll do anything you want. Whatever you want. You must know that."

"I want you to forgive yourself."

That froze him. Kahlan watched as his jaw worked, but no words came out. She wanted to cry or scream or beg until he said he would, but instead she just sat there, holding his hand to her belly and waiting. It felt a lot like drowning.

"Kahlan," he managed at last, choking up on her name. "I can't."

Kahlan felt her heart sink. She thought she'd been doing all she could to help him with his guilt, but she would have to try harder. She closed her eyes to keep from crying as she let the memory of that one, horrible day come slipping as vivid as it had ever been, back to the forefront of her mind. If it offered even the slimmest chance of helping him, she would return to what she had struggled ceaselessly to forget. She was not going to lose him to the sword; it was simply not an option.

Letting go of his hand, she took hold of his face in desperation, tilting it up until he looked at her. "You did not rape me, Richard," she said, and his eyes filled with tears. Her words burned in the silence.

When he spoke, his voice was hollow and shaky. He wouldn't look at her. "I did. I held you down. I made you—" He broke off, the tears in his eyes beginning to run down his face. He made no move to wipe them away. "You were crying. You begged me not to, but I didn't…I didn't care."

"You were confessed," she said for what felt like the thousandth time.

Richard shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"It does! It makes all the difference," she said, the words spilling from her lips hot and angry. "I was the one who agreed to Annabelle's plan, not you. And you never would have agreed in my place to what I agreed for you."

He twisted to face her, "You think I don't know what it means to you to be the last of your kind?" His voice was rough and raw, his eyes like twin bruises boring through her. "You think Zedd didn't know exactly what it would do to you to remind you of that? He made you agree."

Kahlan shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. "Don't make excuses for me," she whispered. "I listened to him, yes, but I'm no child. I am grown. The choices I make are my own. If that is not true, then I have no right to call myself the Mother Confessor."

His hands trembled like he wanted to hold her, but he did not move. "You're still the one who was raped." He spoke so softly she could barely hear him, but his words filled her all the same.

"Yes," she agreed. "I was. But so were you." He started to protest, but Kahlan kept talking, tears streaming in silent rivers down her face. "I was foolish, Richard. But you, you were innocent. You were no more than Annabelle's puppet. What happened to me, happened to you just as much. It was against both our wills, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he whispered. But fresh tears pooled in his eyes, and he kept staring at the rain running down the windowpane.

Kahlan wished desperately that she could be a normal woman, just for the night. That she could wrap herself around him, and let him burry his pain and his grief in her body. If he could feel how she loved him as much as she always had, maybe he would understand. She shifted over without thought, moving until she sat straddling his lap. His whole body tensed, but he lifted a hand to steady her, resting it lightly against her hip. "It wasn't you," she murmured, brushing the hair back from his face. "I know you would never hurt me."

She scooted further forward until her belly pressed against his chest, and they were so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. She wasn't used to being here in his lap; it felt unnerving and rather like she was floating. The few times they had kissed, he'd always been the one to take the lead. She felt safer that way, because she was never exactly sure how it all worked herself, and after going to Hartland and seeing how pretty Anna was, and how little she tended to wear, well…she'd always assumed Richard knew what to do. But now he was gazing up at her like she was the Creator herself, and she knew he would not kiss her first.

And so she cradled his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his. It wasn't like that night in the forest, when she'd come alive with desire in one frantic, breathless instant, only to give way to cold fear and panic the next. It was slower and more hesitant, and at first he resisted. But when she kissed him a second time, Richard wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as he yielded to her kiss. She had never felt so warm before, so safe. His skin was still wet with tears, but he wasn't weeping anymore. Kahlan tangled her hands in his hair and kissed him longer and deeper, tracing his lower lip with her tongue until he opened up and let her explore his mouth.

Her power was there, buzzing and building inside her, and she followed it as they kissed, staying aware of it in the back of her mind. She could not confess him. She could not hurt him now.

When she began to get dizzy with the effort of holding back her magic, she broke away with a gasp and laid her head against his shoulder, sucking idly at the skin on his neck.

Richard half moaned, half laughed this glorious, beautiful sound and lay back on the bed, cradling her in his arms. He seemed to sense intuitively that she needed to stop though he said nothing of it. Just hugged her close and made another sound like the first, half a groan and half a laugh. Some low, manly sound that she would never be able to imitate though it made her grin like a foolish girl with a first crush. "Spirits, do you know you smell like a garden?" he said, burying his face in her damp hair and breathing in.

She smiled, shifting so they lay side by side on top of the blankets, facing each other. The tears had dried on his face, and his eyes were brighter than they'd been in a long time. "Richard," she said. "Are you okay now?"

"I'm better," he said, and she knew it was no lie. She could still see dark things lurking behind his eyes, but they'd beaten them back for now. Slowly, tenderly he reached out and touched her cheek. "I'd be lost without you," he murmured.

"You'll always have me," she promised. Richard grinned at that and kissed her again, soft and sweet and all of his own volition. When they pulled apart, their faces were so close their noses touched. They wove their fingers together and lay like that a long time, bouncing their knuckles lightly against the bed.

"Where's Cara?" he asked abruptly, as if he'd just remembered that this was her room too.

"Downstairs," said Kahlan. "She said it was too early for sleep."

Richard nodded, his hair rustling against the pillow. "I hope she's staying out of trouble."

"You're the one who'd be in trouble down there," said Kahlan before she could stop herself. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she squirmed back from him a little.

He propped himself up on an elbow, looking caught between shock and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

She stared up at the ceiling, exhaling loudly. "The barmaid's after you," she muttered. Richard just chuckled and said nothing, and after a moment, she found that infuriating. She looked back at him and said, "Did you think she was pretty?"

"Sure," he said before catching sight of her face. He frowned and sat up all the way. She followed, mimicking his position. "Kahlan, I'm not interested in the barmaid."

"I know that, but…" She fussed with the edge of the blanket, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. She didn't doubt his love for her, and the last thing she wanted was to give him something else to feel horrible about, just when she'd gotten him to smile again. But jealousy she didn't know she had in her flared up when other women looked at Richard.

His voice grew gentle, and he picked up her hand as he spoke, "You're the love of my life. You're carrying my child. Do you honestly think I'm interested in other women?"

"No. It's just she was pretty and so…" Kahlan thought of how tightly the barmaid had laced her bodice and of her own, abandoned corset. "Never mind. I'm sorry." She folded her arms over her chest, staring down at her bulge of a stomach and wishing her cheeks weren't bright red.

Richard laughed and pulled her towards him, and suddenly his voice was low and wonderful against her ear, sending shivers through her whole body. "You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He slid his hands up into her hair, tugging on it just a little so she met his eyes. "One of these days, I'm going to have to get you a mirror."

She huffed. "I've looked in a mirror before, Richard."

"And you still don't understand? It's hopeless then," he said, shaking his head and grinning at her, mischief shining in his eyes. She wanted something clever to say to that, but nothing came, so she kissed him instead. It seemed to silence his tongue just as well.

When he left a short while later, they were both still smiling, and Kahlan felt a sense of hope she wouldn't have believed possible but a few hours earlier. Locking the door, she climbed into bed still giddy from his kisses, but as the darkness took over, she sobered some. She lay on her side, too full of thoughts to sleep, tracing idle patterns across her belly with a fingertip.

She was still awake when she heard a key turn in the lock, and Cara entered the room with a familiar creaking of leather. The Mord-Sith moved with care, apparently assuming Kahlan's turned back and even breathing meant she was asleep. Feeling suddenly tense, Kahlan did nothing to suggest otherwise. She listened to the door latch. Two loud clunks followed that could only be Cara's boots coming off.

The mattress groaned with added weight, but Cara didn't settle beside her. Instead, she sat there on the edge of the bed for so long that Kahlan almost turned over and asked what was wrong.

Just when she'd about convinced herself that Cara was standing watch despite their earlier conversation, the Mord-Sith drew in a loud, ragged breath. "I'm sorry for what I did on Valeria," she said quietly. Kahlan almost flinched. She had never imagined Cara would apologize for Dennee's death. Not when she'd been following the orders of Lord Rahl – doing the job of a Mord-Sith. Memories of her sister flooded her, and she had to fight to hold still as hot tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

When Cara finally lay down next to her, her tears were still falling. But this time, the usual crush of resentment towards the other woman didn't come. Kahlan let out a breath it felt like she'd been holding since learning Dennee was dead, and let the darkness claim her in sleep.


	16. Frozen

**XVI. FROZEN**

Winter came cold and swift. Richard pulled his hood further forward as he hiked along the rugged footpath nearly lost in a swirl of white. He'd known that the higher up into the Rang'Shada Mountains they climbed, the sooner winter would dig its bitter teeth into their bones. Still, he'd hoped they might make it safely through the mountain passes without meeting a snowstorm of such magnitude.

He could barely see Cara walking beside him, and that was with her dark red leather standing out as bold as blood against the snow. It felt as if they stopped moving for a moment, they'd be buried alive.

Peering back over his shoulder, he squinted against the constant snowflakes to check on Kahlan. She trudged beside Zedd with her shoulders bowed against the wind, her exhaustion drawn in dark marks beneath her eyes. She would never ask for a break – she seemed to expect them to accuse her of slowing them down, though she was several months with child and still keeping pace – but it was obvious she needed one soon. He looked around in desperation; the side of a mountain in a blizzard was no place to stop.

The sky above was the color of parched bones, and he could not tell the hour. At a guess, he would say late afternoon. Late enough that they would not make it back to the cave they'd sheltered in the previous night before the light died. If they could even find the cave now with the added snow. Richard cursed himself for leading them this way. It had been his decision to press on when the snow first started to pick up, and the others had deferred to him, trusting as Seeker he would lead the way.

He should have known better, but he had thought only of how perhaps even the delay of an afternoon could be too much in the end. Every day they walked further without the slightest rumor of the Stone of Tears made it harder not to remember Shota's prophecy. But he should have thought of Kahlan instead.

Cara touched his shoulder, jerking his attention back to the blizzard and the biting cold. She spoke, but he could not make out her words over the howl of the wind. When he frowned, she leaned closer, shouting in his ear.

"They'll need to stop soon!"

Richard nodded, scanning the endless world of white for any sign of a cave. He wondered if they would survive if they tunneled into the snow.

"Just a little further!" he yelled back, his mouth to Cara's ear. His words were meant to reassure himself as much as the Mord-Sith, and Cara looked unconvinced.

He cast another anxious glance Kahlan's way, and she gave him a small, tired smile. He forced his mouth to lift up at the corners in response, but he had no emotion to put behind it. His fingers and toes were numb with the cold. He could no longer feel his face. He tried to guess how far they'd make it if it got to the point where he had to carry her. Dear spirits, he thought, let us find a cave.

The sky had begun to turn a dingy shade of gray when Richard saw the impossible, an archway of stone looming suddenly overhead in the blinding snow. He almost fell to his knees in relief, but instead staggered closer. It had been carved, there was no question of that, by human hands. All four of them stopped and gaped up at it, craning their necks back and squinting to see through the blizzard. The archway looked like it had once held a gate. Hinges stood without their door, rusted over and caked with snow.

Richard pressed a numb hand to the stone. An ornate sun was carved at the apex of the arch, its long rays of light twisting around the stone pillars, winding towards the ground. Halfway down, they gave way to a collection of carved figures emerging from the rock as naked as a child from the womb. They were piled over and around each other, those near the top wearing looks of rapture, their faces straining towards the light. Those below stared downward, their mouths gaping open in silent screams, their bodies twisted into a mirror of all that was grotesque.

"What place is this?" he asked, but he forgot to shout, and the howling wind left him with no answer. He took another glance at the tormented faces at the bottom of the archway and stepped through – the storm allowed for no other option.

They huddled close together as they continued forward, and a city began to emerge through the veil of white. It nestled in the rocky fist of the mountain like it belonged. The buildings had all been carved right into the cliffs, their rooftops rejoining with the mountainside. Not a single window glowed with light from within. No smoke from hearths rose to join the cold air. Here and there, doors hung open or bashed in with drifts of snow like silent houseguests, inviting themselves in. Snowflakes drifted through a shattered window into the darkness beyond. At the far end of the empty row sat a building at least twice the size of the others, built of glorious domes that leapt up and up to challenge the snow. Its windows were of a strange, many colored glass he'd never seen before, as if a rainbow had somehow been made into a solid sheet of glass. He felt a sudden, strong desire to go to the building.

But Kahlan stood shivering beside him, and so Richard turned his back on it and pushed open the nearest door, a cautious hand hovering over his sword. He stepped into a long, low room, quite abandoned, with drifts of snow here and there on the cold stone floor. The howl of the wind lessened dramatically, and he pushed back his hood, grateful for the reprieve from the storm.

He could see the relief in the eyes of his companions, and realized they had been just as afraid as him of finding no shelter from the storm. Cara recovered the quickest, knocking the snow from her boots with an irritated hiss as if it had offended her personally. Zedd rubbed his long hands together before brushing off his cloak. But Kahlan stood a little apart from the others, and as he turned towards her, Richard saw her sway on her feet, reaching a hand out to grasp at the wall.

He hurried to her side, putting an arm around her waist to steady her. "Kahlan?" he asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said weakly. "I'm fine." But instead of pulling away as he expected her to do to prove her point, she sagged towards him, letting him hold up most of her weight. She leaned her head against his shoulder, sounding tired and dreamy, "It was just a long climb. That's all."

He tightened his grip on her as his gaze swept across the room. It was sparse and unadorned, what little furniture it held was all overturned and broken. A fireplace stood at the far end of the long room, snow and ashes mixed together in the hearth.

"Whoever lived here can have no need for the broken furniture," he said, his breath clouding the air in front of his face. "A bit of wizard's fire might get it to burn nicely in the hearth." He looked to Cara, hoping she would understand and gather up the table legs and splintered planks for him; he wasn't letting go of Kahlan for anything right now.

She took the hint, and a short while later, Zedd had the whole mess crackling merrily in the hearth. They drew near the heat, Richard still holding onto Kahlan. He sat down on the floor, and pulled her into his lap so she would be spared the touch of the icy stone. "I'm okay," she mumbled with a heartening hint of protest to her voice.

"I know you are," he said rubbing his hands up and down her arms to try and warm her. "I just think we should rest. We climbed all day."

She didn't argue with that and stretched her hands out towards the fire. Zedd shot her a worried look, but said nothing. Richard dusted some of the snow from Kahlan's cloak and pulled her closer, enjoying the excuse to have her so near. Though everything had changed between them after the night they spent in the village of Kinsley, the chances he had to hold her hand or – better yet – to have her in his arms were few and far between. And he still felt a little unsure with her, as if he didn't have the right, though she always promised him he did. But now she was cold, and he was sure he had the right, the duty even, to see her warm again.

He hugged her to his chest, and she leaned back against him. "Better?" he asked, his voice close to her ear. She made a little sound of affirmation, her head bumping against his shoulder as she nodded. "How's the…" he trailed off, but she understood the question.

"She's fine," she said, slipping a hand beneath her cloak to rest on her belly. "I can feel her moving around." Richard smiled into her hair and then looked up, considering the room.

"I wonder where we are?" he said.

"The hidden city of Ashkari," said Zedd simply, busy combing the snow from his scraggly hair.

Kahlan sat up a little, her voice hushed and full of awe, "I thought so from the gate. I never would have imagined we passed so close."

Their words did nothing to help his understanding. "Ashkari? What sort of place is it?" he asked. "And who would want to live so high in the mountains?" The cold air was so thin it brought on a strange feeling of lightheadedness.

"Scholars," said Zedd. "Students of the afterlife."

"The afterlife? So they were a religious order – like the monk from Ta'Thrane? Or the Sisters of the Light?"

"No," said Kahlan, twisting in his lap to look at him. Her swollen belly bumped against his chest. "The Sisters of the Light hated them. Most sisters refused to acknowledge their existence."

He curled a hand into a fist to warm it and asked, "Why?"

"Because the scholars of Ashkari possessed equal interest in studying the powers of the Creator and the Keeper," said Zedd, his voice solemn and low. "No order worshiping the Creator's light would ever align with them. I doubt they would have desired such a union either. They closely guarded their knowledge, claiming to fear the damage it could do in the wrong hands."

Kahlan nodded. "Every year, the previous Mother Confessor sent a messenger up into the mountains inviting them to Aydindril as guests of honor, so they might share what they knew with all the Midlands. And every year, a scholar met the messenger halfway down the mountainside to refuse the invitation. No one was ever able to follow his tracks back to Ashkari successfully – though I know some messengers tried." She tugged her cloak closer, staring up at the naked stone walls. "It seems someone finally found them."

"Darken Rahl," said Cara from where she crouched by the fire. "I heard him say the name of this place, Ashkari, more than once. I never knew what it meant. He must have sent soldiers."

Richard scowled, painfully aware of the mark on his chest. "I don't doubt it," he muttered. "Even when Rahl was looking for the magic of Orden, he was serving the Keeper. He would have been eager for the knowledge here."

"At least he was good enough to leave the walls still standing," said Zedd. "He's spared us a very difficult night."

Richard looked down at Kahlan in his arms, trying not to dwell on just how true his grandfather's words were. Kahlan was warm now and resting. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, and he squeezed back.

"We should take a look around," said Cara, getting to her feet. "Just because it seems abandoned doesn't mean it is." Richard nodded. It couldn't hurt to be too cautious.

"I think you should stay indoors, dear one," said Zedd, wrinkles running rampant around his eyes as he narrowed them at Kahlan.

"I'm all right," she said and stood as if that would prove it.

"You don't look it," said Cara bluntly.

Richard straightened up as well, his backside numb from sitting on the cold stone. "They're right," he said to her in a quiet voice. "There's no need for you to go back out in that storm." He looked around the long, low room – another door hung open, leading deeper into the mountainside. "This building has no broken windows, and the doors still shut. It might make as good a place as any to spend the night. You and Zedd stay together and explore it for us. Cara and I will be back."

"Richard, I want to go with—"

"Please stay," he interrupted. "If there's anyone about, it will draw less attention if just two of us go," he added, trying to give her as many reasons to stay indoors as he could, so she wouldn't have to feel that it was because she'd become the weakest one.

Kahlan pursed her lips together, but then relented with a muttered, "Fine."

Leaving them to investigate the rest of the building, he and Cara ventured out into the cold again. The blizzard hadn't abated in the slightest, and the sky was darkening, making it even harder to see. Yanking his hood back up, Richard kept a hand to the stone wall, using it to guide him to the next of the buildings. Instead of following behind him in the path he created, Cara trudged alongside him, though she was a good deal shorter and the snow drifts were deeper for her. Of the four of them, she'd purchased the lightest cloak when the weather started to turn. She claimed her leather kept her warm. It seemed to him that the Mord-Sith just never got cold. He was already shivering again by the time they stepped inside the next building, but Cara merely glared at the snow on her leather and brushed it off with a sharp, scolding hand.

The room held more overturned furniture and broken chairs – all of it sparse, simple and plain. The walls were bare stone and a solitary window held shards of thick, plain glass. It made the colored windows of the great, domed building seem all the more remarkable.

"This must have been a home for some of the scholars," he said as he led the way through an archway to another room beyond. It contained only a bed, a small table beside it holding a candle and washbasin, and a ransacked cupboard that spilled clothes across the stone floor. The room looked to have been shared by a man and a woman – the cupboard held simple tunics and trousers as well as dresses in solid shades of white and brown.

"I wonder where all the people are?" said Cara, picking up a shoe only to let it fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

"Maybe they escaped?" he suggested.

She raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Maybe they're dead."

The next few buildings offered more of the same. Empty dwelling after empty dwelling. All of the rooms were abandoned and most ransacked to some degree. Here and there some of the furniture survived. There were boxes of candles which would be of use, but beyond those and some other basics, they found little. Either much had been stolen, or the scholars of Ashkari had lived very simple lives. Judging by the austere style of the furnishings, Richard leaned towards the latter.

There was a barn which held the bodies of frozen animals - several goats, a solitary horse, and a small coop with chickens. They all looked to have starved in their stalls and later frozen. It was a sorrowful, desolate site, and Richard said nothing as he walked the length of the barn, searching out the shadowed corners. Again, they found no one.

When they stepped outside, they were close enough that the blizzard no longer obscured the domed structure looming like a small mountain at the far end of the snowy walk. Richard felt that same, inexplicable tug towards the place that he had when he first arrived, hurrying his search of the remaining buildings between it and the barn. Whatever secrets Ashkari held would not be in them, but in the giant, domed building that seemed to call to him as strongly as the compass or his sword.

The heavy oak door opened for him with a groan, and he and Cara stepped inside, along with a cold whistle of wind and snow. The Mord-Sith kicked the door shut, plunging them into sudden silence and near complete darkness. Whatever room they were in had none of the magnificent windows like rainbows he'd seen from the outside.

Richard started rummaging in the pockets on his belt, feeling with his fingers for a flint. "Open the door again, Cara," he said. "I can't see a thing." She opened it partway, letting in more snow and wind and scant light. It was nearly night, and what shabby light filtered in illuminated only the small area before the door. He searched the area desperately as his fingers closed around the flint – looking for a torch, a scrap of wood, anything he could light. He found an oil lamp mounted high on the wall, barely believing his luck when he managed to get the wick burning despite the wind. Cara closed the door before it could go out again, and when he turned the key to adjust the flame, there was a strange, rushing sound overhead like a swarm of bats taking wing.

Looking up, he saw a ring of fire come to life above his head. At least a hundred lamps mounted in alcoves high on the wall had lit at the key's command, and the sudden brilliance dazzled his eyes. "Is it some sort of temple?" asked Cara.

"I don't know," said Richard as he rubbed at his eyes, his vision still adjusting to the change in light.

They stood in a round entranceway with a vaulted ceiling so high he seemed to shrink down to nothing at all. The countless, dancing flames revealed a mural painted across the expanse of the dome. Following house after house of bare stone, the mural appeared every bit as exquisite and overwhelming as the rush of light. To his right, the eastern wall had been painted to resemble the rising sun, and that portion of the ceiling was a glory of color. From there the mural stretched in brighter and brighter shades of blue across the dome, until it reached the very center where the stone glimmered the purest, clearest blue he'd ever seen – the same shade as Kahlan's eyes. From there, the blue began to deepen and darken. Here and there it was dotted with stars, and at one point a sickle moon, before descending at the edge of the western side of the dome into a sweeping blackness that belonged to the darkest hour of the night. Surely the Underworld itself could be no darker.

He stood transfixed and gaping upward, forgetting to mind the cold. "Look at this," said Cara, pointing at the floor with a gloved hand. The smoothly polished stone had been engraved with some sort of symbol – a circle inside a square, ringed by another circle so large it nearly encompassed the entire entranceway. At the very center was an eight pointed star, its rays of light reaching out in all directions.

"That seems familiar," said Richard. He tried to recall where he'd seen such a symbol before, but nothing came to mind. "Do you know it?"

Cara just shook her head.

He stepped into the symbol, crossing the outer circle, the square and then the inner circle until he stood at the very center. Looking up, he was right beneath the brightest blue so like Kahlan's eyes he had to smile. "It's beautiful," he murmured, revolving slowly to take in the entire mural.

"I thought we came to search this place for survivors, not to look at paintings," said Cara from her spot by the door.

Richard wanted to stay and look longer, but Kahlan would get anxious if they were gone too long, so he walked back to Cara instead. The oil lamp beside the door lifted easily from its alcove, and he held it high as they made their way through the nearest door and down a corridor, casting flickering shadows as they went. Their footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, and their breath hung in the air before them.

The room they entered was full of shelves that climbed like ivy up the walls. Countless books lined them, sometimes stacked in messy heaps, at other times in tidy rows. Some of the shelves had been ransacked, their books flung about, a few pages lying scattered on the floor. Richard stooped down and picked up the nearest one, finding a book on the geography of the Midlands. The next one he uncovered dealt with the craft of soap making in extensive detail. He set both books on a nearby shelf, saying to Cara, "I think Rahl and his men took everything of value already.

Cara nodded and snorted, tossing a volume of hymns back onto the ground. The next room revealed a library just like the first. Though many of the shelves held odd gaps where it seemed books ought to be but weren't, nothing had been ransacked. Apparently a mere glance had been enough for the D'Harans to deem the books dull and irrelevant.

But the far wall held an enormous oval window filled with the odd, rainbow glass that had first caught his attention. Richard wandered towards it, bringing the lamp right next to the glass as he pressed a hand to the countless shards of color. He had no words for how lovely he found it; all he knew was he wanted to show it to Kahlan tomorrow.

Cara popped up at his elbow, wearing a puzzled frown, "Why are you petting the window?"

Richard pulled his hand back and said, "It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's stained glass. There's plenty of it at your palace," she said with a smirk.

"My palace?"

"Yes. The People's Palace. In D'Hara. Home of the Lord Rahl."

Richard frowned and led the way down another corridor. "That's not my palace. I have no palace."

"So you're not the Lord Rahl?" asked Cara sweetly.

He shot her a look. He'd never met anyone who enjoyed being meddlesome as much as Cara did. "Just help me look," he muttered.

"And what are we looking for, Lord Rahl?" she asked in that same tone of feigned ignorance.

Richard caught himself before he snapped at her. Even teasing that drove him out of his mind had to be counted as a step towards humanity for a Mord-Sith. He tilted his head towards the books, "Something to help me find the Stone of Tears. If these people studied the afterlife, they must have had knowledge of the stone." He still couldn't shake the feeling that the library held something important.

"It will take days to search through this mess!" said Cara, stomping along beside him like a petulant child. "Besides, the D'Harans would have made sure to take all the interesting books. And no one's here," she added. "We might as well go back to Zedd and Kahlan and have some supper. We can bring them back if you want and search tomorrow. We'll have an easier time of it with four of us."

Richard nodded but kept walking deeper into the building. "We should at least check all the rooms," he said. They found a room full of desks, quills and bottles of ink still waiting for the vanished scholars. Mostly though they found books. The entire building seemed to be a library, and the scholars of Ashkari had not merely kept books on the afterlife, but on every conceivable subject under the sun. He had never seen so many books before in his life.

Holding the oil lamp high, Richard led the way down yet another corridor into yet another round room. He stopped short at the sight before him, causing Cara to bump into him from behind. She peered around his shoulder, and then spoke in a bright voice, "Looks like we found the scholars."

Close to a hundred corpses lay frozen on the ground, the bitter cold masking and slowing their decay. In the center of that ring of death sat the charred remains of an enormous fire. Richard picked his way towards it, weaving a path through the tangled bodies to prod at the heaping mountains of ashes. He uncovered the charred remains of a book that disintegrated when he touched it, along with pieces of metal twisted and bent beyond all recognition.

"They must have burnt everything important," he said in a hushed voice as he straightened up. It felt wrong to use more than a whisper in the midst of so much death.

Cara was wandering among the bodies, stopping now and then to squat down and inspect one. "None of them have suffered any wounds. It's as if they all lay down and went to sleep."

"Poison?" wondered Richard, turning his back on the fire pit full of ashes.

"D'Harans would not have poisoned them," said Cara. "They would have used swords."

"No," he agreed. "This was planned. I think it was a mass suicide." He sifted further through the ashes; everything was destroyed. "They burnt all of their knowledge and then killed themselves. They must have had word that Rahl's men were coming."

"Why do something so foolish? They should have stood and fought."

"Maybe they knew they would lose, and this was the only way they could see to keep the knowledge from the wrong hands. If they were captured, it could have been tortured from them." Cara scoffed. "Even you broke once, Cara," he reminded her gently.

She scowled and said nothing, bending down to study another corpse. "There is a bottle here," she announced in a flat voice, holding it out to him. The bottle was large and made of dark, smoky glass, now empty and uncorked. It felt like ice in his bare hands, and as he rolled it over, he found words painted on it in gold.

"Beloved Mother, give us gently unto our Father," he read aloud before lifting it to his nose and sniffing. The bottle had a lingering, sweet scent. "Nightwreath," he muttered, sniffing it a second time to make sure. But there was no mistaking that cloyingly sweet aroma, even faint as it was now.

"Night what?" said Cara.

"It's a plant. The juice from its berries makes a powerful poison. It only takes a few drops – this bottle would have been plenty to kill them all."

"Not this man." She gestured to a nearby corpse. "He chose a different way," she added in a tone of admiration. Unlike the other, peaceful corpses, this one had a blade buried in his forehead. Richard bent down beside the dead man, lifting the oil lamp to cast its glow across the corpse. He looked to have been someone important to the community, for though he wore plain clothes like the other scholars, he alone had several strands of wooden beads hung around his neck. And more than that, on his forehead was tattooed the same symbol that marked the entranceway. A circle inside a square inside a circle, with a star caught in the very center. It was there that the blade had been embedded, its point aligned perfectly with the center of the star.

Richard closed a hand around the blade and yanked it free. "I'm not so sure he chose a different way," he said, turning the blade over in his hand. It was the strangest, most elegant weapon he'd ever seen. Instead of one blade, there were three shaped like interlocking leaves. They glinted silver in the lamp light, each curved sweep of steel sharpened to a slender, deadly point.

"Why do you say that?" asked Cara.

"Look at the beads he wears and the symbols on him," said Richard, gesturing with the blade. "He was their leader. I think he died from the poison too, and this was done later to make a point." Cara was still frowning so he went on, saying, "See how deliberately the blade was placed? I think it was done to dishonor him." He could see a glimmer of understanding in her eyes; the Mord-Sith understood death and honor nearly as intimately as she understood pain. "One of the D'Haran soldiers must have done this when they found him and his fellow scholars already dead."

But Cara shook her head at that. "There isn't a blade like this in all of D'Hara. I have no name for it. Neither would any of Darken Rahl's men."

A chill trickled down Richard's spine, and he had a sudden desire to be gone from the room. "Maybe they found the blade and decided to use it," he suggested, but he felt no surprise when Cara shook her head again.

"If the D'Harans were here and they wanted to dishonor him as you said, they would not have done it this way."

"What would they have done?" he asked.

"They would have beheaded him," she said in a blunt voice. "Or castrated him. Both is best." Richard felt the sword's magic leap through him though he did not touch the hilt. It coursed bitterly beneath his skin, reminding him that he was no better than such men. He was one of them. But Cara was still talking, and he forced the feeling away to concentrate on her words. "I'm starting to think D'Harans did not come here at all," she said.

"So am I," said Richard, though the thought did nothing to comfort him. Even if the D'Harans had not been to Ashkari, someone had. "I think we should head back," he said abruptly, starting through the tangled dead towards a door they hadn't opened yet. "Zedd and Kahlan will be wondering where we are."

When he opened the door, they found themselves back in the domed entranceway, this time standing on the left-hand side beneath the sweeping mural of an endless night.

They fought the blizzard and the bitter cold back to their companions, and Richard could not help but sigh with relief when he finally stepped into warmth again. Kahlan and Zedd had moved to a smaller, cozier room even deeper in the mountainside, and a fire burned brightly in the hearth. They had righted what furniture remained reasonably undamaged, setting up chairs around a wobbly table.

Kahlan smiled when she caught sight of him in the doorway. She looked much better than she had before, with color back in her cheeks and energy in her step again. "Here, have some tea," she said, pushing a steaming mug into his hands. "And come sit by the fire. You look half frozen – both of you."

"What did you find?" asked Zedd as they drew near, shedding their snow covered cloaks.

"The scholars are all dead," said Richard as he settled in a chair, breathing in the steam from his mug. A grim mood overtook the room as he recounted what they had found in the library. Reaching down, he pulled the odd, three pronged weapon free from where he'd stashed it in his boot and said, "The leader of their community had been stabbed with this, but neither Cara nor I recognized it."

Kahlan let out a soft gasp and leaned forward, plucking the blade from his hands. She turned it over, studying it as if she didn't believe her eyes.

"You recognize it?" asked Zedd.

"It's a dacra," she whispered. "The weapon of the Sisters of the Light."


	17. Librarian

**XVII. LIBRARIAN **

Richard sat beside the hearth, tracing the graceful, swooping edges of the dacra with a fingertip. The others all slept nearby, their bedrolls spread out on the ground. No one had wanted to sleep alone in the dead city, and it was safer this way and wasted less wood. Zedd's snores filled the room, and Kahlan and Cara slept just as soundly, but he felt restless and wide awake. He lifted the dacra, testing its weight in his hand, trying to get a feel for the strange weapon. Though Kahlan had recognized it, she had not been able to say why the Sisters of the Light would have come to Ashkari. Unless it had been some sort of crusade born out of their hatred for the scholars. Still, she had insisted that was not their way.

Questions tumbled unanswered through his mind, and Richard set down the dacra to cradle his head in his hands. He listened to the crackling fire, trying to imagine just what had happened in Ashkari; what had convinced all those scholars that they had to burn their books and take their own lives. As he sat there lost in thought, he grew aware of a tingling feeling crawling over his skin. Faint at first, but more and more pronounced with each passing moment. He straightened up, concentrating on the sensation. It felt familiar and yet different, like some half remembered dream.

Halfway to his sword, he stopped and reached a bewildered hand for the compass instead. As Richard's fingers closed around the cold metal case, he realized he was right. The bizarre sensation emanated from the compass – like the tingle of magic it gave off at a new bearing, but sharper and more commanding. It seemed to pulsate in his hand like a living thing.

He rose and gathered up his heavy wool cloak from where he'd draped it over a chair. Not quite sure what possessed him, he wrapped himself in it and headed for the door, stopping only long enough to pull Kahlan's thick, green blanket back up around her shoulders. She stirred at his touch, but then resettled into a deep sleep.

Outside the air was bitter cold once more. The snow hadn't stopped falling, but sifted heavily from the black sky as if the stars themselves were shaking down. All around him were great drifts of white – their earlier footprints gone. The hidden city of Ashkari looked blindingly pure and untouched.

Richard pulled the compass out from the folds of his cloak and held it pulsing in his hand. It nearly sang with its opening – some high, cold melody to match the night – and his palm came alive with radiant blue light.

He watched entranced as the light raced round and round the compass, settling at last on a new bearing. He shifted to match it and looked up; it pointed him straight down the silent street to the great, domed library at the far end. A lamp burned in one of the stained glass windows, though he swore they had left the building dark. It seemed to him that he should have felt fear at that, but he couldn't. All he knew was peace and a sense of rightness, as if this was exactly what was supposed to happen.

Holding the compass out in front of him, Richard began to wade through the knee high snow, alone in the Rang'Shada Mountains with only frost and moonlight for company.

The compass darkened abruptly when he pushed open the door to the library, and he clasped it shut. It was almost as cold within as without, and with no stars to give a faint glimmer to the space, the dark seemed darker still. Shadows ran longer on the cold stone floor. Instead of bothering with the lamp by the door, he turned towards the glow he'd seen from the window. It came from the right, spilling down a long corridor to give the faintest illumination to the entranceway. Just enough for him to make out the painting of the rising sun as he passed beneath it.

As he drew closer to the light, he could hear a steady, determined whisk-whisk sound, soft at first but growing louder. "Hello?" called Richard as the corridor opened into one of the rooms he'd explored earlier. An oil lamp sat on a shelf before the stained glass window, filling the space with a warm, colorful glow. A hunched old woman hobbled into view. She held a broom in her weathered hands and worked it steadily across the floor, the bound twigs rasping at the stone.

The woman glanced up, leaning on her broom a moment. She regarded him with dark eyes that seemed ageless somehow – full of wisdom and yet still sparkling and lively. Wrinkles ran at crossroads all over her face, and she nodded, her little knot of thin, white hair wobbling with the motion. "The Seeker, isn't it?" she said in a quiet, pleasant voice. "I thought you might be stopping by."

Dazed by her sudden appearance in the empty city, Richard stayed frozen in the doorway. "I didn't know anyone was still alive in this place. Are you one of the scholars?" She had on a plain, brown dress not unlike the clothes worn by the frozen corpses. His hand twitched towards his sword and he added, "Or a Sister of the Light?"

"Oh, no," said the old woman with a chuckle. "I'm just the librarian."

"The librarian?"

Her weathered face split into a grin full of so many wrinkles Zedd would have looked like a fresh faced boy beside her. "Someone must care for what people have forgotten." She resumed her sweeping, "And what they are not yet ready to know."

He rocked back and forth on his feet, unsure of what to say or do next. The librarian paid him no further attention, continuing her slow but steady progress across the stone floor. Richard hesitated, then cleared his throat, "Can I help you?"

She gave him another wrinkled smile. "I'm counting on it, Richard. There's a dust rag behind you. The shelves would thank you if you found a use for it."

He picked up the rag and settled to his task, starting with the higher shelves that the librarian would have trouble reaching. Behind him, the whisk-whisk of her broom gave the silence a quiet, steady rhythm. Richard studied the books as he made his way along the shelves, dragging his fingers down ancient, cracked leather volumes, hoping to find something that could help in his quest. Surely the scholars overlooked a book or two.

"Are you searching for something?" asked the old woman as she neared him with her broom.

Richard looked up, twisting the rag around his hand. "The Stone of Tears," he admitted. "Have you heard of it?"

Her smile turned indulgent, like one a parent might give when humoring a child's foolish question. "Oh, yes. I've heard of it."

His heart took a hopeful leap in his chest. "Do you know where to find it?"

The librarian wiggled her broom into the small space between his feet and the shelf he was dusting. He stepped back out of her way, and she looked up at him with dark, sparkling eyes. "Oh, child," she said with a shake of her head. "The Stone of Tears cannot be found."

Richard nearly dropped the rag, but she carried on sweeping as if she'd done no more than call it a chilly night. Shota had promised him much the same thing; he would fail to find the Stone of Tears. And then the Keeper would win. Kahlan would die. Their daughter would die. "But the compass," he pleaded, holding it out to her. "It's taking us there."

"Taking you there? Now that's a handy trick. Told you so itself, did it?"

"Well, not exactly," he said, remembering the runes inscribed. "It says, 'This orb will guide the Seeker's way.'"

"And no doubt it will. For a time."

"For a time?"

"You want it to lead you around forever?' She brandished her broom at him, giving his shins a gentle whack. "I thought they called you the Seeker. Not the Follower."

She chuckled at her own joke, and Richard looked down at the compass, feeling as frustrated and confused as he had the day he first met Kahlan and learned of his destiny. "I am the Seeker," he muttered. "But if it's not guiding us to the Stone of Tears, then where? To someone who can help?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions of an old woman."

His ears reddened. "I'm sorry. I just…I need to fix this. The world is in danger because of me." He stared up at the towering bookshelves. It would take a lifetime to search them all. "If you've come across anything in these books that might be useful, I'd be grateful for your help."

"Very well," she said, working her broom furiously at a crevice in the wall. "If my words interest you, I will tell you what I know."

Richard crouched down a bit to dust a lower shelf. "Please…"

"There are those that say the compass is a tool to teach the Seeker, until he is ready to find his own way." She nodded towards him, "You need it now, but there will come a day when you must turn from following it blindly, to doing as you know you must. If you cannot do this, the compass will cease to be a tool and become a trap, leading you forever in circles."

Richard's hand stilled on the shelf, rag clenched tight between his cold fingers. He already had an inkling of what she spoke of – the meandering path the compass took them on was not one headed for any final destination. "Then this is just wasting time," he said angrily. "I should have stopped following it a long time ago!"

The librarian raised a snow white eyebrow. "And where would you have gone if you had? What would you have done? If you were to set aside that compass tonight, where would you go?"

His frustration stopped short. "I…don't know."

"Ah," she smiled and wedged her broom even deeper into the crevice. "Then perhaps you need it a while more."

Richard could only shrug and carry on in weary silence, the rhythmic whisk-whisk of the broom his constant companion. He trailed his rag down the spine of an old tome on war maneuvers, and then another on the history of Tamarang. "You said you know about the Stone of Tears," he said at last, struggling to keep the hopelessness he felt from showing in his voice. "Do you know why it cannot be found?"

"Because it must be earned," said the librarian.

"Earned?" Richard twisted around to look at her. "How?"

"No one has told you the stories?" She tutted under her breath and started back towards him with her broom. "The Stone of Tears was born of the Creator's grief and sacrifice. Those who wish to possess the stone must earn it through sacrifice of their own."

Richard's mind spun; he wondered why no one had ever told him this. "What sort of sacrifice must I make?"

The librarian's ancient, ageless eyes locked with his own, and it felt as if she peered right through him to inspect his very soul. "Only the Creator knows, and I do not believe she is in the habit of telling."

Dejection settled over him again, and he rubbed the rag back and forth over the same spot on the shelf without thinking. "I would pay any price to fix this, but I can't if I don't know what that is."

The librarian appeared at his side; she stood barely as high as his chest. "Don't fret so, Richard," she said cheerfully. "By the Creator's grace, I'm sure you will know in time."

His breath caught in his throat, and he stared down at the small, wiry woman, the second half of Shota's prophecy running through his mind. _But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living._ His heart was pounding in his chest. "How do you know those words?" he demanded.

"What words?" asked the librarian as she went back to her sweeping.

"By the Creator's grace."

She chuckled loudly, "It's an expression. An older one, I believe. 'Dear spirits' has become more popular of late." Still laughing, she headed down an aisle of books with her broom. Richard followed after her. The lamplight did little to light the long, narrow corridor, and they moved through shadows cold as snow.

"I heard it in a prophecy," he said to her. "One about me."

The librarian gave another wheezing chuckle. "I'm no prophet, boy."

"But have you read anything? Is there any truth to prophecy?"

"People do not like to go blindly into the night. That is the truth of it. But little can make you so blind as a line or two of prophecy." When he just stood still, his rag hanging in the air, she chided, "You're a child of prophecy. Surely you know what I mean."

"But the prophecy about my birth came true," he said, feeling even more lost than before.

"Of course it did. Prophecy always does." She gave him a wide, toothy grin. "It comes from the Creator. I believe she means it to help."

Richard scoffed at that. He had never met a greater waste of time than prophecy. "If there is a Creator, why doesn't she fight the Keeper instead?"

"Perhaps she does not share his interest in controlling all life. After all, it was not she who ripped the Veil, was it?"

He bowed his head as the old guilt came pouring back. He had done this to the world. His voice shrunk to a whisper as he said, "No. That was me."

The old woman reached over and squeezed his arm with a tiny, age-spotted hand. "You're a good man, Richard Cypher," she said. There was such warmth and kindness in her touch he was nearly moved to tears.

"Rahl," it was the greatest rebuttal he could think of. "Richard Rahl." The name was synonymous with monster.

The librarian quirked her brow at him and said, "You are ready for that truth? Very well. You are a Rahl." She spread her scrawny arms wide, taking in the towering shelves. "Many of these books tell of the glory of your ancestors."

His hand closed instinctively around the hilt of his sword, and he welcomed the familiar flow of anger, letting it flood through his being. It was like being slammed against a brick wall – the sudden onslaught of fury towards himself.

"Impressive," said the old woman, and he realized in surprise that she knew what he was doing. She started back down the aisle with her broom, calling as she went, "I doubt there has ever been a Seeker as in tune to the rage of the sword as you are. But you waste it as surely as you waste your name."

Richard shook his head. His true name was a curse. Kahlan may have forgiven him, but she still could die because of him. The sharp anger of the Sword of Truth was no more than he deserved. If she did die, the worst the sword could do to him would not be enough for his crime.

He followed the librarian back out into the open room and the hazy lamplight, lost in the dark storm of his thoughts. "Enough of that now, Richard," said the old woman in a gentle voice. His hand fell from the sword as quickly as a scolded child's. "That woman you love sees a great deal of good in you. Stop doubting that it's there."

He stopped short, "How do you know of Kahlan?"

"You wear your love for her all across your face. It is quite plain to anyone who bothers to look." He found he could only smile at that. She shooed him with her hand, adding, "You should return to your friends. They will worry if they wake and find you missing."

"What of you?" he asked, suddenly remembering that the old woman was all alone in this place. "I've seen no one else still alive, and this building is full of the dead. You're welcome to join us. We could see you safely down out of the mountains when the snow lets up."

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I find myself rather fond of the solitude and the view."

He wanted to argue with her that harm could find her here. That she could run out of food or water or wood to burn, and no one would be there to help her, but somehow the words did not come. It did not seem his place. He towered over her hobbled form, and yet felt very small and young before her. "Well, we will come tomorrow and visit with you at least."

She smiled at him as she leaned on her broom, her bright, ageless eyes studying his face. "You are very dear, child, but I have kept you dusting long enough. Be on your way now."

Her words compelled him, and Richard turned away, heading back the way he came. The steady whisk-whisk of her broom picked up again, and he paused at the end of the corridor, looking back at the old librarian alone with her broom, silhouetted in the light.


	18. Grace

**XVIII. GRACE**

"Are you sure it wasn't a dream, Richard?" asked Kahlan, her boots clicking against the stone floor of the library. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows, creating patches of color all over the room. "The altitude can do strange things to your head. I had bizarre dreams myself last night."

"Well of course it was a dream," said Cara. "I would have known if anyone got up and left in the night."

Richard just shook his head. They had searched the whole library for any sign of the old woman, even going so far as to revisit the room full of dead scholars, but they had found no sign of her. Not even her broom. Now they were back in the room where he'd talked to her the night before, and he was beginning to feel foolish.

He stared up at the bookshelves, asking desperately, "Look at these shelves. Don't they look clean? I dusted them."

Cara trailed a finger along the nearest shelf and brought it away, her red leather glove tip blackened with grime. She smirked, "If you say so, Lord Rahl."

"Well I didn't have a bucket of water and soap to scrub them with! But there's less dust!"

"Richard," said Kahlan. She seemed to be struggling not to smile. "If you were one of the cleaning maids at Aydindril, I'm afraid I would have to replace you." Her hair looked nearly black against the white fur trim on her cloak, and her smile was more lighthearted than it had been in a long while. He gave in to her mood and grinned sheepishly.

"Kahlan's right," said Zedd as he entered the room. "You're a poor cleaning maid, and so is this supposed librarian. Half the building is covered in cobwebs!" He shook his head. "And how would an old woman survive alone in such a place? Why was she still here? Why didn't she take her own life along with the scholars, and what caused them to kill themselves in the first place? Was it really the Sisters of the Light?"

"I don't…I don't know." Richard tugged a hand back through his hair, staring at the empty room. "I didn't think to ask. It didn't seem important at the time." He couldn't understand why he hadn't though. Zedd's questions made sense; they were some of the first ones he'd ask if the librarian was here now.

"That's often how it is with dreams," offered Kahlan. "You do things that don't quite make sense once you're awake again."

"Like walk off in the middle of the night without telling anyone," interjected Cara in a stern voice. "You could have been killed."

Richard looked over at her with a bemused frown. "You think it was a dream, yet you're cross with me for going off alone? In my dream?"

The Mord-Sith shrugged. "It was foolish. You should have woken me up. Then I would have come with you to protect you."

"In my dream?" repeated Richard.

"Yes," said Cara in a tone that suggested she was completely serious. He was pretty sure he would have pulled his hair out in frustration at that if not for the amused grin Kahlan shot him from across the room.

Zedd cleared his throat, stepping between the two of them. "Well, perhaps there was some meaning to the dream. What did the old woman have to say?"

"I…" Richard hesitated. "I asked her about the Stone of Tears. She told me I couldn't find it – that the compass wouldn't lead me to it. The stone has to be earned."

"How do you earn it?" asked Kahlan, her blue eyes very bright in the morning light.

He held her gaze, "Sacrifice."

"That seems easy enough to interpret," said Zedd, settling into a high backed chair. His long robes flowed around him to the ground, and he smoothed them into place. Richard turned towards him as he went on, "You're worried about finding the stone in time, and that worry is seeping into your dreams. Of course you'd question the compass after it led us straight into a blizzard, but don't forget it also led us to shelter."

Richard started pacing back and forth before his grandfather's chair. "But what about having to earn the stone through sacrifice?"

"Everyone in this room knows how much you've sacrificed on this quest already," continued the old wizard. "There's no question in my mind that you've earned the right to find the Stone of Tears through all your struggles. Perhaps the woman in your dream was trying to help you have more faith in yourself."

Kahlan and Cara both nodded along as if they found Zedd's explanation to be the correct one, but Richard couldn't shake the feeling that the dream had meant more than that. If it had really been a dream. It had seemed so real. He could remember standing right where he was now, talking to the wrinkled old woman as she worked her broom across the floor. He opened his mouth to try and explain further, only to shut it without saying anything. He suddenly did not want to hear that he'd made it all up again.

"You're probably right," he said to Zedd. Kahlan looked over at him oddly, but said nothing. He swept his arm out towards the columns and rows and towers of books. "It's still snowing too much to think about leaving. We should split up and look through the books here. We might find something useful about the stone."

Richard hurried away from the others down one of the aisles he swore he'd dusted the night before. He trailed a hand along a shelf, finding it familiar. Footsteps echoed behind him, and he turned to discover Kahlan had followed him down the aisle.

She stopped right in front of him, "You were lying." He started to protest, but she silenced him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm the Mother Confessor. I know you don't believe a word Zedd said."

He sighed and leaned against the shelf. There were moments when he wished she couldn't tell every time someone lied. "It just seemed so real," he said quietly. "I don't know how I dreamt all of it. I remember this shelf. I remember dusting it." He walked further down the aisle, retracing his steps from the night before. From his dream.

Kahlan followed along behind him, not saying anything to dispute his claim. He would need a scroll several leagues long to list all the reasons he loved her, but this was one of them. He didn't feel foolish the way he would have in front of the others when he got down on his knees, pointing out a chink in the wall. "And look right here," he said. "She had her broom in there to sweep the dust out. Come and look at it," he beckoned. "Doesn't it look clean?"

"I believe you," said Kahlan, but she stayed where she was. He glanced up to find her with a hand on her round belly and a hesitant look on her face. "But don't make me go all the way down there just to look at a lack of cobwebs."

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I forgot. Stay standing." He sighed, resting his head on his arm as he stared at the crevice in the wall. "She was sweeping here, and I was crouched down dusting this shelf," he added, his gaze shifting towards the bottom bookshelf.

He heaved another sigh. The cold from the floor was seeping through his clothes, and he was about to stand up again when something dark caught his eye wedged between the bookshelf and the floor. "There's something stuck here," he said to Kahlan, wiggling his hand beneath the shelf. His knuckles scraped against the stone, but his fingers just managed to take hold of the corner of something hard. Holding his breath, he wiggled it backwards, working bit by bit until he'd pulled it out from beneath the shelf.

"It's a book," he announced as he sat up, smoothing a hand over the soft, weathered, black leather. He blew some of the dust from the book and turned it over, coming face to face with an eight pointed star centered inside the now familiar pattern of circle square circle. He traced it with his fingertips, feeling the grooves worked into the leather.

"Kahlan," he murmured as he got to his feet. "This symbol…It was in the entranceway, and tattooed on the forehead of the dead scholar. And now it's on this book. Do you know what it is?"

She stepped closer to him, peering down at the cover. "Of course. It's a Grace."

"A Grace?" The word sent shivers down his spine; somehow he knew this was what he'd been looking for.

"Mmm," she nodded. "It's common in Aydindril, especially by the Wizard's Keep. And the Sisters of Light had it everywhere in Thandor. They see it as the basis of everything." She stepped closer, her shoulder bumping against his, "Look, this is our world." She traced the inner circle. "The world of life. And this is the Underworld," she said as she moved to the outer circle. "The Veil, that's the square, it separates life from death. And the star shows the Creator's light, illuminating everything."

He knew he'd never heard that explanation before and yet, "I wonder why I find it so familiar. I must have seen it somewhere, but I just can't remember."

Kahlan looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "You drew it once," she said softly. "When you were possessed by Kieran, to place Vivian's soul in my body."

His memories of being possessed in that crypt were a blur of feelings – magic and power and fierce, desperate love. "So the Grace is magic?"

She hummed a soft sound of agreement. "In the right hands. Zedd could tell you better than I."

"I think this is what we came for," he said, letting his fingers wander over the lines of the Grace as Kahlan's had, learning the feel of it. "We can head back to camp," he added as he started back down the aisle.

"Are you sure?" asked Kahlan. "The Grace really is quite common. It meant something to the scholars, but we have no idea if that book will have anything we need. At least look inside it first."

He stopped and did as she asked, gently lifting the cracked and dust streaked cover. The first page of the book held no words; only an illustration painstakingly filled in with a vibrant, crimson ink that Richard was sure must have cost a small fortune. It was a picture of a solitary tear.

"You're still reading?" Kahlan's voice pulled him from the book and he looked up. She crossed the room to the table he'd taken over before the fire. Strewn across it was a mug of tea, the compass, his cloak, the dacra, several candles and the book. It lay open to an illustration of a monstrous hound barring huge fangs, foaming and dripping spittle as he gave a silent snarl from the page. Unlike the teardrop on the first page, the hound had not been colored in, but that hardly lessened its impact. The stark lines against the faded and yellowed paper did plenty to convey the horror of the beast. "Did you find anything about the Stone of Tears yet?" asked Kahlan as she sat in the chair beside him and scooted it closer.

"No," he said, shoving the hair back from his eyes. The picture of the crimson tear had filled him with hope, but there'd been no words to go with it. "Not a mention of it yet."

She nodded and pursed her lips together. "Have you found anything else that could be helpful? We can go back to the library again if you want."

Richard shook his head. "The scholars would have burned everything else that dealt with the Underworld. I think this only survived because it was wedged beneath that shelf. They missed it when they rounded things up. And so did the Sisters of the Light when they came afterwards."

"You really believe it was the Sisters of the Light?" she asked in a tone that implied she did not. He turned to look at her. She'd been saying as much since he first brought back the dacra. But learning that the Grace was one of the sisters' most important symbols had done nothing to sway his thinking. It made it all the more likely that they had been the ones to leave the dacra embedded in the man's skull; such a gesture would have held meaning for them.

"It's not their way," continued Kahlan, and he realized he'd let his skepticism show on his face. "Richard, I can't imagine that they would go on a mission to kill these people. Even though they despised the scholars for studying the Keeper, they would not come here intent on murdering an entire community. They were kind women."

"I'm not saying they weren't kind women. Perhaps they came to Ashkari with more benevolent intentions. Like wanting to convert the scholars?" Kahlan nodded slowly and so he went on, "But the scholars feared them for some reason, perhaps wrongly, but you said they were sorceresses… And so they took drastic measures to keep their knowledge safe." He leaned forward on his elbows. "How do the Sisters of the Light feel about suicide?"

"They view it as an abhorrence in the eyes of the Creator," she said softly.

"Then perhaps that is what the dacra was meant to comment on." He looked down at the mysterious weapon, candlelight making the curved blades glow. "I wish I'd asked the librarian."

"But if it was a dream, how could she have had an answer?"

He shook his head again. "I've never had a dream that vivid before." And so much of what the woman had said made sense.

Kahlan was studying him intensely. "Richard," she murmured. "This is a strange place. I have never been to anywhere that felt quite like it in all the Midlands. It feels powerful, even with no one here but us. I know you were not raised as I was, on stories of the Creator and the Keeper, but maybe…" She picked up his hand, rolling it between her smaller ones. "If the words she spoke seem important to you, don't discount them just because everyone tells you it was a dream. Maybe they do hold meaning. And maybe it was more than a dream." She smiled and released his hand. "I trust your judgment."

He sighed and looked back down at the book. Of at least one thing he was now certain; the compass would not lead him to the Stone of Tears. He would have to find another way. He smoothed his hand over the book, flattening out the picture of the hound. "What is that?" asked Kahlan, leaning to look over his shoulder.

"The Keeper's hound," said Richard. "It says he guards the Underworld, stopping souls that attempt to enter before death."

"Before death? Is such a thing even possible?"

"Yes," he pointed at the page beside the picture of the hound. "The scholars made several attempts to travel to the Underworld and explore it in greater detail, but they were always stopped by this hound. They nicknamed him the Ripper. It says that most of them died upon encountering him."

"How do they know that, if they all died?" asked Kahlan.

"Some were able to turn around in time and claw their way back to the world of life, but they came back half mad, screaming incoherent tales about a fanged beast. So they started trying to contact the dead scholars," he continued, flipping to the next page, pointing out passages he'd already read. "They learned how to summon the dead and spoke to the scholars who'd failed to return. They told them of an enormous hound, twice the size of a man, with yellow eyes and teeth to rival your arm. He ripped their souls to shreds."

Kahlan shuddered and nodded her head. "What else?" she said in a thin whisper.

"This book seems to be an account of what they learned from talking to the ruined souls of the scholars. It's how they know so much about the Underworld." He started flipping back through earlier pages. "Look, screelings, banelings, before they ever appeared in the world of life, they were here in this book. The nursery rhyme you told me of, about the screelings…"

She paled as she recited the words, "The screelings are loose; the Keeper may win. His assassins have come to rip of your skin."

"That's the one. I think it came from Ashkari. It's one of the first pages in the book." Kahlan winced suddenly, turning his attention from the book. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "It's nothing. Go on."

Richard sighed and resumed flipping through the pages. The horrors locked inside the book were being unleashed on the world of life because of his mistake. It reminded him of Rahl's promise – Kahlan would die because of him. He'd found nothing on the Keeper's daughters yet, but there were countless other horrors the Keeper could hunt her with.

It wasn't until Kahlan laid a gentle hand on his arm, and he jumped at her touch, that he realized the magic of the sword was pulsing beneath his skin like some out of control heartbeat. He took a deep breath, trying to force away the blistering anger, but it lurked there in the back of his mind, reminding him of what he'd done. To Kahlan and to the world of life.

"Richard," she said softly. "Maybe you should take a break. You've been reading all day, and I think-" She stopped abruptly, hissing in a sharp breath. Her hand dropped down to rub at her growing belly.

His heart leapt into his throat. "You're in pain."

"I'm fine," she started to say, but he had already twisted around and called for Zedd.

It felt like an eternity before the wizard appeared, wearing a heavy scowl on his brow and flour stains on his robes. "What is it?" he grumbled. "I'm trying to teach Cara how to make a simple mealcake." The look on his face was enough to know that the lesson was not going well.

"It's Kahlan," said Richard. "She's in pain."

"I'm not," her cheeks reddened, "I'm not in pain."

"Then why do you keep grabbing your stomach?"

"It's just a twinge," she muttered, but she kept rubbing at her belly.

Zedd's expression softened at once. "Let me see, dear one," he said, dusting his hands off on his robes as his crossed to where they sat. He bent towards her, holding out a hand just above her womb. Magic stirred through the room like a strong current of air, and the old wizard's expression grew thoughtful and intent.

After a moment, he straightened up. "The child is fine," he said gently.

Kahlan shot him a look as if she'd known all along, but Richard just frowned, "Then why were you wincing?" he asked.

"I don't know," she mumbled, looking away from the both of them. "It just happens sometimes, like a twinge in my side, but then it goes away."

"Why don't you lie down and take a nap, child," suggested Zedd. "We won't be going anywhere for awhile with the snow like this. There's no reason why you can't get some extra rest."

"I don't need a nap," said Kahlan in a stubborn voice. Richard looked at her pleadingly, but she ignored him.

"I remember Taralynn used to get those twinges too," said Zedd. "When she was carrying Richard. Nothing helped her as much as a nice long nap."

She scowled, but then nodded her head. "Fine. I will nap. If it will make both of you men feel better, I will go take a nap," she said as she pushed herself to her feet. Richard tried not to smile; he knew Zedd had brought him and his mother into it because it held the greatest chance of getting Kahlan to go along with the idea. She looked beautiful even when was cross though, and he failed to hide his smile.

"Wipe that grin off your face, Richard Cypher," she snapped as she started for the door and the bedrolls spread out in the next room. "This is all your fault."

His smile fell abruptly, and he stared down at the table as her footsteps faded away. He remembered the look on her face when he'd pinned her arms to the ground and started forcing her skirt up as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget that day. Zedd's hand came to rest on his shoulder and he tensed.

"Come now, Richard, you know that is not how she meant it," he said quietly. "She was only teasing you."

Richard nodded, shrugging away from his touch. He knew quite well that Kahlan did not blame him. That made it no easier to forget what had been done to her that day. "The Grace," he said, changing the subject. "It can be used to summon spirits from the Underworld, right?"

"Yes," said Zedd, frowning down at the book on the table. "It can be used that way. The Grace contains a representation of the Underworld, the Veil and our world, and so it can be used to draw a spirit up through the Veil into our world for a short time." Richard only half listened to Zedd's explanation – it said as much in the book. The scholars had used the Grace as a means to talk to those who had been destroyed and imprisoned for eternity by the Ripper.

"Could it also work in reverse?" he pressed. "To send a soul from our world into the Underworld for a short time?"

"I suppose it could be possible," said Zedd after a moment. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to do that though. The Underworld is no place for the living. There would be tremendous risk involved, if not certain death." Richard nodded; that too he'd learned from the book. The scholars had made countless attempts to visit the Underworld in their search for knowledge.

He closed the book, tracing the outline of the Grace on the cover. "Richard, what are you thinking?" asked Zedd in a worried voice.

Richard took a determined breath and then looked up into his grandfather's eyes. "I want you to use the Grace to send me to the Underworld."


	19. Snowbound

**XIX. SNOWBOUND**

Kahlan sat by the window, sunlight in her lap, trying to pretend she wasn't listening to their argument. It was the same one they'd been having every day for over a fortnight now. She tilted her head to stare out the glass at the swiftly falling snow. It never seemed to stop for more than a few hours at a time. Whenever Richard went to explore the passes out of Ashkari he found them treacherous at best, certain death at worst. And so they waited in the dead city, warm and safe and fed, and starting to lose their minds from so long in one space with nothing to do.

He frequently sent Cara off on pointless patrols down the empty, snow covered streets just to stop her from climbing the walls. She could see her now from the window as she waded through drifts, her Agiels clenched in ready fists. Zedd amused himself in countless little ways; he was the only one who seemed unbothered by the wait. And she – Kahlan glanced down at the mess of fabric spilling across her lap – she was attempting to sew.

But Richard spent every waking hour, and most of the ones he was meant to devote to sleeping, with his nose buried in the nameless black book he'd found in the library. And having this same argument with Zedd. It made her heart clench up in fear to hear him talk.

"It could work," he was saying, jabbing at a passage in the book. "The spell is right here. I know it's not too hard for you – you're a Wizard of the First Order!"

Zedd reached over and snapped the book shut. "I'm perfectly capable of performing the spell, long and convoluted as it is, but I choose not to.

"Why not?" Richard started pacing again. It seemed that the floor ought to be wearing thin with how much he paced these days. "We need information on what's happening in the Underworld. Think of what those banelings said outside of Kinsley, about the Creator forsaking them. If I went to the Underworld, I would have a better idea of what we're up against."

"Or you would end up as a permanent resident of the Keeper," said Zedd, scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What of all the creatures you told me are waiting down there? Not only screelings, but this hound? All the scholars you claim it's killed? And those who escaped came back shaken – a shell of who they once were. Is that what you want to have happen to you?"

Richard stopped pacing and drew in a deep breath. He wore an exasperated look on his face. "Just because they didn't succeed doesn't mean it can't be done. They didn't have the First Wizard to help them."

Zedd slurped at his tea a long time, and Kahlan could tell he was struggling to remain calm. "The scholars of Ashkari devoted their entire lives to the study of the afterlife, and they did not succeed in traveling safely through the Veil and back. It cannot be done. The Keeper's hound will kill you."

Kahlan wound a thread round and round her finger, staring blindly at the fabric in her lap. She was no seamstress, but the Sisters of the Light had taught her and all their charges the basics of a needle and thread. And with the buckles on her traveling dress no longer able to fasten over her stomach, she would soon be forced to go about naked beneath her cloak if she did not attempt to do something about it. But every time she picked up her needle, Richard would begin arguing for the equivalent of his own death sentence, and all hopes of concentrating on sewing would be lost.

He resumed pacing back and forth in front of the fire, and she looked up, watching the way the light and shadow played across his profile. He looked strong and noble, but she could see the desperation in his eyes. "It's in the prophecy," he said at last, and she knew this part of the argument too. "But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead."

"That's an expression," snapped Zedd as he always did. "It's not telling you to use a Grace to get yourself killed in the Underworld! Richard, I know how much you want to find the Stone of Tears, but this is not the way. Be patient. In another week or two, we'll be able to get back down the mountain and resume the search."

Richard shook his head. "We need to do more. More than just follow the compass."

Kahlan shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She could feel the tension mounting in the room. Zedd set his mug down with a heavy thud and said, "So your plan is to travel to the Underworld, and simply ask the Keeper if he might know where the Stone of Tears is hiding? Or if he would please consider no longer waging war on the world of the living? Tell him we're getting tired of it?"

"No, I just…" Richard heaved a frustrated sigh, tearing a hand back through his hair. "This book is important!"

"I'm not saying it isn't," said Zedd sharply. "Keep reading. We may learn something useful from it. All I'm saying is do not expect me to send your soul off to meet the Keeper after lunch today."

Though she could see how angry Richard was getting, Kahlan couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards Zedd. Even if Richard was furious, at least he was alive. He picked up the book and started flipping through it again. "What about some of the other spells?" he asked. "We could use the Grace to summon a spirit from the Underworld and speak to it." She straightened up in her seat; this was an idea he hadn't put forward before.

Zedd stirred his tea, the spoon clinking against the mug. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet, "Richard, listen to me. You are dealing with forces of which you have only the simplest, most incomplete understanding. I have been studying to be a wizard since well before your mother was even a twinkle in your grandmother's eye. Trust me when I say that there is a great deal more to it than simply opening up a door to the Underworld and having a chat through the Veil. Forces have to remain in balance at all times or catastrophe results. The Veil is torn. The world is already unbalanced." He set down his tea, his pale eyes growing hard and grim. "Do you want to know what I think will happen if I draw a Grace and use it to pull spirits up from the world of the dead to speak with you?"

Richard stopped pacing and looked at him. "What?"

"I think you will get Kahlan killed."

The needle slipped from her fingers as she watched all the color drain from Richard's face. "What?" he croaked.

Zedd's voice filled every corner of the room, "We would be opening up a gateway into our world for the Keeper. He is no fool; he will understand that where the Seeker is, so is the Mother Confessor. If he decides to use the opening we have created with the Grace to force any number of his minions through to take her, there is no certainty that I will be able to seal the gateway in time. His power is different from a wizard's, but it is vast beyond imagining compared to my own, and he will know exactly where she is. If you insist on going ahead with this, you will get her killed."

Richard turned in silence to look at her, his dark eyes a storm of tormented things. She wanted to go to him and take him in her arms, and tell him it was okay – they could defeat the Keeper another way. Instead, she swallowed around the lump in her throat and said, "I'll risk it, Richard, if you think it will help."

"No." He looked at her like she'd slapped him, his voice low and gravelly when he spoke, "I will not risk you for anything." Without so much as a glance at Zedd, he pulled his cloak from where it hung over the back of a chair. He slung it around his shoulders and headed for the door. "I'm going to take Cara and check the passes again," he said to no one in particular, and then he was gone.

The door slammed shut behind him, plunging them into silence. Her fingers trembled as she looked over at the old wizard sitting before the fire. "You should not use me against him like that," she said, struggling to keep her anger out of her voice. "It's cruel!"

Zedd fixed her with a level stare. "Was any word I said a lie, Mother Confessor?"

Her heart pounded in her chest. Kahlan could only shake her head to that. "No," she whispered at last. "It was all true."

He nodded and went back to watching the fire as he stirred his tea, the spoon clinking in an endless, jarring rhythm against the glass. And she stared at the heaping pile of fabric in her lap and tried to sew. She had found the dress in one of the abandoned houses, and had liked it because it was a creamy shade of white not too different from the Confessor's dress she no longer fit. It had belonged to a woman of a larger size than she, but with the basic shape already there, it should be a simple matter to take in the sleeves and the bust and leave plenty of fabric behind for her stomach. At least, that was what she'd told herself before settling to the task. At the moment she felt like casting the gown into the fire.

"Spirits!" she cursed as she jabbed herself with the needle. She dropped it to suck on her wounded thumb.

Zedd let out a weary sigh. "Give it here, dear one."

"What?"

"The dress. You're going to make a mess of it. I can already tell."

She raised an eyebrow, but stayed in her seat. "You sew?"

"Don't look so surprised." He set down his tea and cracked his knuckles one by one. "I'm a man of many talents."

Kahlan gathered up the dress, needle and thread, and pushed herself to her feet. It was starting to take a bit more effort to get from sitting to standing, and it often left her dizzy for a moment. As soon as she could, she carried the folds of fabric across the room, depositing it all on the table in front of him. "Thank you, Zedd," she said quietly.

He nodded as he plucked the needle from where she'd pinned it to the dress, and rolled it back and forth between his fingertips. He frowned at her dress a moment and then set to work, the needle flashing silver in the firelight. His long, bony fingers moved with nimble skill hers had lacked. Zedd cleared his throat, "In Aydindril you would have at least a dozen ladies to do this for you."

"I know," she said and turned away to fidget with the odds and ends on the table, rearranging the candles and fabric scraps in thoughtless patterns. She'd been wondering when this would conversation would come again. It was suddenly very hard to make her voice work, and she whispered, "I don't mind doing it myself if it's too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all, and you know very well that's not what I was saying."

Kahlan stiffened and stayed with her back to him, fighting to keep from leaking tears into his mug of tea. "Then say what it is you mean to say," she said in a cold, stilted voice.

Zedd sighed, and she could hear the fabric of her dress rustling in his lap. "Dear one, do not be like this. Don't you know I care for you too? That is my great grandchild you carry, after all."

She blinked furiously to clear her tears and then turned, lost in a battle to keep her feelings from her face. She thought of the endless snow falling outside, and wished she was standing there in the blinding whiteness so she might cast her sorrow into the drifts. "I know what you are going to say."

He kept stitching her dress, but he glanced up at her, his pale eyes gentle and grave beneath his wiry brows. "We are stuck here for now," he said. "But in a week or two or three, we will be able to leave Ashkari. And then what? I only want to know how much longer you are going to continue doing this to yourself."

"The Seeker needs his Confessor," she said in a voice like rusted metal – brittle and ready to break.

"Nowhere near so much as Richard needs you to be well."

Kahlan let her hand settle over the swell to her belly where the fabric of her dress stretched and pulled near to tearing. She could feel the new life quickening in her womb. "I am well," she said.

"I know." Zedd's needle flashed and dipped as he spoke, "And so I am only asking. You are very tired, are you not?"

She shrugged and said, "It does not matter. There is too much at stake for me to sit in a room and wait for the world to end."

"For a child to come," he corrected with a slight furrowing of his brow.

"It does not matter. I'm not doing it."

Zedd measured out a length of thread and said, "He would come back for you. Don't be afraid, child. He would always come back for you."

"I know he would," she said fiercely. "If he lives."

"So that is what you fear."

Kahlan bristled. Her emotions had been busy stirring in her chest, and now they felt about to burst out. "You fear it too!" she snapped. Zedd kept sewing, his head bowed as he wielded the needle. She stalked over to him and snatched the dress from his lap, suddenly furious. She jerked her chin towards her belly. "What? We can talk of this, but not of the other? You fear him dying every bit as much as I do, or you never would have pushed that book away as coldly as you did. You fear he's desperate enough to march into the Underworld to battle the Keeper of the Dead himself, and that he will die just as the prophecy says. And he is that desperate! He blames himself for everything that has gone wrong. This could kill him in a thousand different ways."

She clutched the mess of fabric to her breast, only vaguely aware of how her voice was rising, "You treat me so carefully now, as if I'm damaged because of what happened when he was confessed. But I am fine." She sucked in a shaky breath, "It was horrible while it happened because he looked like Richard, yet he wasn't my Richard, and I don't have the words for how much that hurt my heart. But then it was over, and I had the man I love returned to me from a fate worse than death. And now I get to have his child. Do you have any idea what that means to a Confessor? To bear the child of the man you love?"

Kahlan kept going without waiting for an answer. "But for him…" She shook her head; the room was a messy, angry blur. "He's gone from brooding all day while we walk, to dreaming up ways to meet the Keeper, because that is how much he blames himself. I will not leave him to face this alone, and you do not understand how much I love him if you think I could!"

And then Zedd's arm was around her, guiding her down to sit on the bench, his voice soft and soothing, saying little more than "there, there child." She was vaguely aware that she was shaking, tears streaming down her face. "It's all right," he murmured. "I know very well how much you love him. It will be all right."

Kahlan buried her head against his shoulder and stained his robes with her tears. He said nothing of it, only held her closer as she cried. She felt very much like a child again – very young – in those few short years when she'd had a parent who loved her enough to hold her.

She did not know how long she wept, but when she stopped, Zedd stayed and rubbed her back. His gnarled fingers smoothed her hair. "You are right," he said at last in a quiet, tired voice. "I do fear his death. But I fear yours just as much. And you can no longer fight the way Richard can. I would rest easier if I knew you at least were some place safe, but perhaps it is better for the both of you to remain together." He gathered her hands up in his ancient ones and looked into her eyes as he said, "But child, there will come a day not too many months from now when you will have to stop. And he may have to go on."

Kahlan sniffled and looked down at her swollen belly. "I know," she whispered, but she did not want to think of that. And when he brushed a fat tear from her cheek and told her they could leave it at that, she shoved the thought to the back of her mind, staring out at the falling snow as he picked up her dress again and began to sew.


	20. Beloved

**XX. BELOVED**

"Here," said Richard, spreading his blanket over her. "You look cold." She had been, and Kahlan welcomed the warmth of the extra blanket. Harsh, wintry wind blew in the open mouth of the cave, and the fire only did so much. Though they had spent nearly two months stuck in the hidden city of Ashkari, spring had yet to soften the air. She snuggled beneath the added layer, watching as Richard pulled his cloak tighter and settled back down beside the fire, the black leather book still open in his hands. She could tell by the lines around his eyes that he was straining to read in the dim light of the cave.

"Richard," she called softly, not wanting to wake Zedd or Cara. "Come here."

She propped herself up on an elbow and beckoned him to her with a tilt of her head. He hurried to her side as swiftly as if she'd cried out in pain, kneeling down on the rough floor of the cave. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice. "Are you still cold? I can give you my cloak."

"Richard," she said again, drawing his name out to get him to listen. "You freezing to death won't do me any good. You need to get some rest." She plucked the book from his hands and closed it. He'd had it open to an illustration of a screeling, and that creature's nightmarish face sent a shiver down her spine.

"I'm all right," he began to protest, but she reached out and pressed a finger to his lips, the dark and the cold making her bolder.

"You need to sleep," she said again. "We hiked all day. I know you've got to be exhausted." The backs of her legs ached from the sunrise to sunset trek down the mountainside. It was a lot harder than she remembered after so many endless weeks doing little more than keeping house in the abandoned city, and they were not yet halfway out of the Rang'Shada Mountains. Another strong gust of wind blew through the cave, and she saw him shiver and try to hide it.

That confirmed it for her. Kahlan peeled back her heavy layers – three blankets and her cloak, which had been spread like another blanket. "You're going to freeze to death without a blanket, so…" She looked at him hopefully, "We'll share and be twice as warm."

He hesitated, studying her face with dark, unsure eyes. "Kahlan, you don't have to…"

"I won't confess you in my sleep," she said. "It doesn't work that way."

"I'm not afraid of you confessing me," he said quickly. "It's just…are you sure you'll be comfortable? We've never…" They'd never fallen asleep in each others arms before. She knew that well.

"I'll be comfortable if you lie down and stop letting the cold in," she said with a pointed look. Richard flushed bright red, but nodded and pulled off his cloak, spreading it over her as yet another layer, before slipping in to lie beside her in the warm cocoon.

Kahlan curled towards him, though her belly only let her get so close. She could feel the cold radiating from him, and was glad she'd insisted he share her blankets. He would have caught a chill had he stayed out like that much longer. She picked up one of his hands, holding it between her own to warm it. Their faces were very close, and Kahlan could see an echo of herself reflected in his eyes. Gently she reached out and touched his frigid cheek.

"Have you learned anything new from the book?" she asked. She was sure he'd read the entire thing from cover to cover at least five times by now.

Richard shrugged and looked away, staring up at the patches of golden light reflected from the fire on the rough, dark walls of the cave. The shadows loomed very long. "Not really," he muttered. Though she could tell that his words were a lie, she took care not to call him on it. Since the day Zedd had accused him of getting her killed, he had stopped mentioning what he learned in the book. He read it still, especially late in the night, but he had never again asked Zedd to draw a Grace.

She wiggled closer, her knees bumping against his. The blankets rubbed soft and warm against her cheek, and only their eyes and the tips of their noses showed above them. "I meant what I said that day," she said quietly. "I know Zedd says there's a risk to calling a spirit through the Veil now that it's torn, but if it's what you really think is best—"

This time, it was he who pressed a finger to her lips. The feel of his finger there surprised and thrilled her, and she smiled a little despite what they spoke of. "No," he said. "Anything that risks your life is not best. And Zedd was right. I don't know what I'd have done if he sent me to the Underworld with the Grace. It would've been an act of desperation," he said with a bitter laugh, and she could hear how lost he felt.

"You will find a way to the stone," she murmured.

Richard sighed and gave a slight shake of his head. "The librarian…in my dream," she heard the way he added that on, and knew he still wasn't sure what to believe about the old woman. Neither was she. "She told me the Creator made the stone out of her grief. I've searched the entire book, but there's no mention of how the Stone of Tears was made. You told me you grew up hearing stories of the Creator and the Keeper…"

"So you want me to tell you the story of the Stone of Tears?" asked Kahlan.

Hope kindled in his eyes. "You know the story?"

She smiled at his astonishment and said, "It's no secret in the Midlands. It's so well known they probably saw no need to record it." Her mother had first told her of the Stone of Tears when she was very young, and later Sister Isobel had turned it into a bedtime story at Thandor.

"Will you tell me?" he asked.

"Of course," said Kahlan. She curled towards him so their foreheads almost touched, her womb pressing against the hard plane of his stomach. The fire popped and crackled, sending up a shower of golden sparks into the dark belly of the cave. The cadence of that ancient story rose to the forefront of her mind, and she spoke the words that had colored her childhood, "It was a time before remembering," she murmured. "When there was only a great nothingness. Into that void came the Creator like a light into darkness, and the Keeper, who loved her. She grew to love him too, and from their love came the world. Their children filled it, and they were like to them, beautiful and perfect and immortal. They knew no pain, no death, no suffering. For a time, they were happy. The Creator filled the world with beauty to delight their children, and she doted on them day and night."

"But the Keeper grew jealous of her love for their children and made us mortal, that he might murder their firstborn." Kahlan hesitated, her hand drifting down to settle along the curve of her swollen belly. "Into the world came loss and pain and death, and the Creator wept over the body of her child. Her grief was so great that it took shape and became the Stone of Tears. She used the stone to imprison her beloved in the Underworld for all eternity – never to see him again – so that their children might know life and peace and joy once more. But alone, she could not undo what had been done to the world." She looked into Richard's eyes, "And so we come from her, but all are given to the Keeper in the end."

"Beloved Mother, give us gently unto our Father," he murmured.

"What?"

"It was painted onto the bottle of poison that the scholars drank," he said quietly. "I didn't understand what the words meant then. The Creator and the Keeper were lovers?"

"Yes," said Kahlan. "How else do you make new life?" She felt suddenly very aware of the child curled inside her womb. Richard nodded, but said nothing, just lay there looking into her eyes a long time. "What are you thinking?" she asked at last.

Instead of answering, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her face, his palm curling around her cheek. Kahlan leaned into his touch, savoring it. She loved how he did not fear to touch her. She doubted he knew what a gift that was to her, or how much she missed it when he filled up with guilt and kept to himself. But right now, she could see the desire in his eyes, and she stared back at him, calm and peaceful and wildly awake all at the same time.

Tucked away in the dark belly of the mountain, it seemed rather like they were the only two people left in the entire world.

"You are so beautiful," he said in a low, reverent voice. He rose up on his elbow a little, so his face hovered just above hers, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, soft and fleeting like the touch of a butterfly's feet. When he lifted his mouth from her skin, she turned her face so her lips were where her cheek had been, staring up at him. Every breath shivered its way from her lungs, and the icy wind that moaned in the cave only made the space between them burn all the brighter.

Richard kissed her then as she'd hoped he would, his lips meeting hers this time. His fingers combed through her hair as he tasted her, and she melted into his embrace, twining her arms around him. There came a moment when he could have deepened the kiss or pulled away, and the sweet ache building inside her was left to grow cold when he broke from her mouth. Kahlan ignored it. It would always be this way with them.

He settled back down in their makeshift bed, still running his fingers through the long ends of her hair.

"I want you to feel something," she whispered, tugging his hand down until it rested against her belly. She flattened his fingers, pressing them to the spot where the child in her womb kept kicking her. "Can you feel her?" she breathed the question, and saw the answer in his eyes.

"Kahlan," he said. "That's incredible." His eyes began to water, and he beamed at her. "She's so strong."

Kahlan nodded, her heart beating faster. It was getting harder and harder to tell herself that she would be a mother someday, instead of a mother very soon. Her voice shook when she spoke, "She'll be here by late spring. Or a little earlier."

He smiled as if that wasn't terrifying and said, "I always liked the spring."

"But what are we going to do?" she asked. "Once she's born?"

Richard seemed to realize her worry then because his tone turned soothing. "We'll raise her wherever you want to raise her. We'll make sure she's happy." He rubbed his hand in a circle right above the spot on her belly where the baby kept kicking, soothing her aching side and their restless child. "She'll be perfect and you'll be wonderful, and I'll adore you both."

Kahlan grinned at that; she didn't remember how she'd ever lived before without him in her life. It hadn't really been living, she was sure of that. When she'd been young, she had thought that duty made up for love, but it didn't. It failed to even come close. She had no idea how she would ever find the strength to one day tell her daughter that she was not to seek this for herself.

"Maybe I'll make her a cradle," continued Richard, sounding suddenly shy. "Do you think she'd like that?"

"She'd love it," said Kahlan as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. He made it all sound so simple, and she wanted to let her thoughts run away with his and paint a picture of a perfect life, the two of them together like husband and wife. She remembered the morning she told him she carried his child, and how Richard immediately wanted to wed her. He'd always wanted that, she knew, but he had imagined for a moment that it could truly be.

Her heart still ached that she hadn't been able to agree then; that even now she could not bring it up again and say yes. She wanted nothing more than to live with him in some tiny cabin in the woods he loved, and raise their daughter, and sleep in each other's arms every night. Though the most she could share with him would be a few rounds of breathless kisses before bed, she knew she could call her life content. But she was the only Confessor left, save for those that came from her womb, and one would not be enough.

Every time she tried to convince herself that she could stop at just one daughter, she saw her sister's face in her mind. Her mother's face. All the dead Confessors who'd been massacred and hunted into extinction. If her kind was truly to have a chance to return from what had been done to them, she would have to bear more children someday, and Richard could not father them.

Kahlan wondered how she would bear it when the time came to tell him. When their daughter was old enough that she could come up with no more excuses to delay the inevitable. She would rather endure a thousand times what had happened when he was confessed than take another man as a mate, but she could not. She would have to lie with a man she did not love and bear his children, and she could not be Richard's wife when it happened.

Deep in a secret part of her heart, she feared that she would never be able to love her other daughters as dearly as she did Richard's.

"Kahlan?" His worried voice broke through her mind. "You're weeping."

She nodded, gripping his hand fiercely. "I don't ever want to lose you," she whispered.

"Hey," he murmured, and somehow found a way to ease her closer still. Her head fit into the curve of his neck, and his fingers danced a secret pattern down her spine. She could not stop weeping. "Hey," he said again. "Kahlan, I'm right here. You have me."

"Promise me you'll always love me, no matter what." She could not stop the words from coming; she didn't know when she'd become so selfish. If he couldn't stand to look at her after she took a mate, that was his right.

"That's not a promise," said Richard as he smoothed his hand down the back of her head. "That's the truth."

She smiled bitterly. The skin on his neck was slick with her tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered in a thready voice. "I don't know- I don't mean to cry."

"It's okay," he said and kissed her brow. "It's all right." He pulled back a little to look into her eyes. He smiled at her, his hands still busy soothing her. They trailed through her hair and down her arm, across her swollen belly. After a moment, Richard spoke in a quieter voice, "There is nothing you could do to make me stop loving you. I want you to know that." She wondered if he'd guessed her thoughts. The lump in her throat was too great to speak around, so she nodded instead. "Can you sleep now?" he asked gently.

"Don't go…" Her words wobbled when she finally forced them out.

"I'll stay here with you," he promised. "But you need to rest. For you and for her."

Kahlan pursed her lips together. Past the sudden grief, the day's exhaustion still lurked, and sleep seemed a wonderful thing. "I think I can sleep," she said. Slowly, awkwardly, she turned over onto her other side, and he eased her back so she lay snug against his chest. Richard's breath was warm on her neck, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade.

"Sleep, Kahlan," he murmured. "I love you."

She tugged his hand down so it rested over her belly. The last thing she remembered before sleep took her was watching the stars shining through the mouth of the cave, while Richard's fingers traced idle patterns over their growing child.


	21. Prey

_Happy 4th of July!_

* * *

**XXI. PREY**

The wind whipped Richard's hair back from his forehead and made his eyes water. Here and there the snow was beginning to melt, but the morning air was not without a sharp chill to back the wind. He tightened his hold on his cloak and turned to where Kahlan walked beside him, her dark hair dancing wildly about and flying across her face. "I want to stop at that settlement," he said, tilting his head towards a smudge on the eastern horizon.

She raised an eyebrow and said, "It's not even midmorning. We don't need to stop so soon. I thought you wanted to make up for the time we lost in Ashkari."

"I want to see about buying some horses." He'd wanted horses a fortnight ago when they'd finally fought their way down from the icy slopes of the Rang'Shada Mountains, but this was the first settlement they'd seen since then.

"Horses? So we can go faster?" asked Kahlan, and he caught the hesitance in her voice. "Richard…"

"So you can be more comfortable," he assured her. He doubted she'd be able to ride much faster than she could walk at this point, but at least it would get her off her feet.

She sighed and twisted her hair into a long coil to keep it from the ravages of the wind. Her heavy cloak billowed around her. "I know I'm slowing you down. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," said Richard, and he meant it. Though he'd hated the delay in Ashkari, it didn't bother him at all to slow down for her. Kahlan seemed to grow bigger each day now, and though her cloak hid her shape at the moment, when she took it off, the dress Zedd had made for her accentuated how much she had changed. He still found her to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but he knew she was constantly uncomfortable. Every night she had him pull her boots off for her to free her red and swollen feet, and her eyes brimmed with tears every morning when she forced her feet back into them. He squeezed her hand and said, "We'll go as slow as you need to go." He had never felt so protective of anyone in his life before.

She smiled at him like she was truly grateful. Before he could say more, the compass began to chirp and hum, and Richard pulled it from its place on his belt. The blue lights that spun around in his palm were now so familiar he barely noticed them, glancing down only once they had settled on a new bearing. "Changing directions?" asked Zedd as he came up beside them.

"Not by much." He glanced down at the compass again, and then back at the dismal stretch of melting snow before them. A twist of smoke rose from the village in the distance to join with the dingy sky. "Looks like the compass wants to make sure we don't skirt the settlement," he said as he clasped it shut and refastened it to his belt. Often since leaving Ashkari, he had the urge to heave the compass as far away from him as he could, and set off in the opposite direction just to feel like he was doing something. But there was no guarantee that that would help to find the Stone of Tears either, and so he kept going where the compass led. Zedd seemed to think it was the best plan.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky by the time they drew near to the settlement. Around it lay empty, snow burdened fields, and a few small cottages dotted the horizon. The town itself was surrounded by a towering wooden wall; the road leading up to it unusually empty for midday. They did not see a single soul as they approached, and after walking down the barren road for some time, Cara rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me," she said in an exasperated voice. "Another abandoned city?"

"I don't think so," said Richard. "There's smoke ahead." The faint wisp of smoke he'd seen before was now a thick plume rising steadily from somewhere inside the settlement. Up close, the wall was not impressive. Many of the wooden planks looked weak, and it appeared to have been hastily repaired in quite a few places. But when they reached the gate, they found it barred.

"Well this is odd," said Zedd, voicing Richard's thoughts for him. The old wizard frowned up at the gate and rapped on it with his knuckles. "Hello!" he called.

A wooden flap swung open high above them, and a man's face stuck out, scowling at them with a particularly unfriendly expression. "What do you want?" he shouted.

Richard hesitated a moment, but decided it couldn't hurt to try. The sooner he could get Kahlan off her feet, the better. "We hoped to buy some horses," he called.

"Sorry. No outsiders," said the man in a tone that suggested he wasn't the least bit sorry.

Kahlan looked up in astonishment and said, "No outsiders?"

"You heard right, lady," he growled, and was about to shut the flap again when Cara interrupted, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

"Show some respect to the Mother Confessor," she said, brandishing an Agiel at the man. Somehow it seemed no less a threat for the distance between them.

He paled at her words and cast a second glance at Kahlan. "You're the Mother Confessor?"

Kahlan gave a slight nod. "I assure you I am." Her voice was as calm and commanding as a waveless sea, and she seemed suddenly very tall before the gate.

"And this is the Seeker and the First Wizard," continued Cara. Richard felt a surge of relief that she didn't go her usual route and announce him as Lord Rahl. He doubted it would have helped gain them entry.

The man snorted. "And who are you? The princess of Thrice?"

Cara's lips curled back into a deadly smile. "I'm Cara."

The man hesitated and looked back at Richard. "You really the Seeker?"

He hoisted the sword. "Yes."

The man frowned down at the four of them. Without warning, he disappeared from the flap, leaving it to bang shut on its own. Richard shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced over at Kahlan. She looked as puzzled as he felt. A moment later, the man reappeared above them, calling, "We'll give you four horses, but you can't come through. That's the rules." The flap slammed shut again before they could get in any reply.

Richard adjusted his grip on the Sword of Truth, checking that it sat free in its scabbard. He scanned the perimeter of the settlement for any sign of danger, but all was barren around them. "No town has ever had their gates shut like this before," he said quietly.

Cara eyed the offending wall with a look of distaste. "They're afraid," she said. "I could smell the fear on him."

Kahlan nodded. "It's against the law for them to refuse me entry. Something must have frightened them terribly, or they would not risk it. In the past, officials have been confessed for as much as they have already done." The realization snuck up on Richard, as it often did, that he was standing beside the most important person in the Midlands. So often she was just Kahlan to him, but strangers bowed to her.

The wooden gate let out a groan and began to swing open partway. The man from above appeared alongside another skinnier fellow, and together they led four horses out through the narrow opening. Though the horses remained calm, the two men were as skittish as mice. Richard could see a meager crowd of men young and old standing at the ready just inside the gate, a mismatched collection of hatchets, pitchforks and belt knives to hand.

"The horses, Mother Confessor," said the man who'd first greeted them. He dropped a hasty bow and looked about ready to scamper back inside when she spoke.

"Wait, we'll of course pay you for them." He stopped short and stood fidgeting with a loose thread on his tunic while Zedd dug into his pouch for the coins. Kahlan continued, her voice calm and imperious, "Are you aware that it is considered a crime against the Midlands and an admission of guilt to bar any place to the Mother Confessor?" The man shifted uncomfortably, staring at the ground. "It's not my intention to force my way into your town today, I have much more important business, but I must ask what has caused this stance. Has something happened here?"

"Banelings," he muttered in a dark voice. His silent companion nodded.

"Banelings?" The horse standing next to her tossed its head with a loud whinny, and Kahlan reached up, taking hold of the bridle to steady it. Her cloak fell open on either side, revealing her swollen belly, and the two men gaped at it as obviously as if she'd been naked beneath her cloak. Richard took a step closer to her, tightening his grip on the sword.

The thinner man finally broke his silence, whacking the other in the head as he said, "The Mother Confessor is with child? Why didn't you say so, Kurt, you old fool!"

Kurt's ruddy cheeks reddened further. "I didn't know she was with child! She didn't say."

"Well, let them in!" snapped his companion. He shouted to someone on the inside, "She's with child! Open the gate!"

Kahlan leaned closer to Richard and spoke in a hushed voice, "What does my being with child have to do with anything?" He only shook his head. He had no idea what caused the men to act so strangely. They didn't seem to be a threat though, acting far more fearful than hostile. Though they were outnumbered, he could already tell that these were simple villagers and farmers, poor fighters all of them. And the compass had led them here, which made it all they had to go on for now.

Still, Richard kept his hand to his sword and put himself between Kahlan and the villagers as they stepped through the gate. The assembled men all fell back, wearing looks of wild terror though they were the ones with raised weapons.

His attention was caught by three funeral pyres burning in the center of the town square, and what looked to be the remaining inhabitants of the village gathered round the pyres, some of them weeping openly. The flames leapt and crackled, filling the air with the strong smell of burning wood. Behind them, the gate slammed shut and men rushed to barricade it from the inside.

Though Richard wanted to keep her safely behind him, Kahlan stepped forward and seemed to nearly glide towards the poorly armed men. They shrunk back until they stood pressed against the wall. He knew he was seeing her in the guise of the Mother Confessor; the placid yet charged expression she wore nothing like the sweet, sunlit smile she gave him when she was just Kahlan. Now she looked beautiful and regal as a queen, her dark hair flowing down her back and her cloak hanging open around her belly. She rested a hand on it and turned towards the man named Kurt.

"I will speak with the leader of this village now," she said. He could tell by the tone of her voice that it wasn't a request, but an order. Kurt realized it as well because he bowed and retreated, promising to fetch the Magistrate right away. The people gathered nearby tried and failed to look like they weren't staring at Kahlan's belly. It was as if they'd never seen a woman with child before. Richard moved closer to her, glowering at the villagers, and they went back to studying the ground.

The Magistrate emerged from the crowd a moment later, hurrying towards them, huffing and puffing a little as he went. He was a short, graying man with a scraggly beard and small, bright eyes. Though a brocade vest hung open beneath his cloak, the rest of his clothes were simple and homespun. This was not a rich or powerful settlement, and the Magistrate appeared to be no exception. He fell into a deep bow the moment he saw Kahlan's face. "Forgive me, Mother Confessor. I recognize you from Aydindril. Had I known, I would have invited you in at once."

Kahlan raised an eyebrow. "I stated who I am. The Mother Confessor is not in the habit of lying to her people. As Magistrate, you know it is a crime punishable by confession to close your doors to me for any reason." The Magistrate tumbled into another bow as if he did not know what else to do, and Kahlan's tone finally softened. She gestured towards the funeral pyres. "Has something happened to cause you to flout this law?"

"Forgive me, Mother Confessor," he said again. "We closed our gate because of the banelings."

"Your village is not the only place to suffer from baneling attacks, yet no other has refused us entry."

"It has become quite common, I believe, Mother Confessor." The Magistrate twined the ragged ends of his beard around a nervous finger as he spoke, "I was advised by the council at Pembroke – our neighbors to the north – to take such precautions, but I did not believe it necessary. As you can see, my people have paid the price for my foolishness," he gestured towards the pyres. "They were murdered by a baneling horde just yesterday."

"I'm so sorry," said Kahlan. She hesitated and then continued on in a lowered voice. "Your men refused us entry, but changed their minds when they saw that I am with child. Was this on your orders?" An image of young Marla came unbidden to Richard's mind, her pregnant body ruined beyond all hope of resurrection.

The Magistrate shook his head. "It was they who decided it was best, but I would've said the same had I been there. Once they saw your condition, they realized neither you nor any of your companions could be banelings."

"But why would you assume that if you did not before?" said Kahlan, and the Magistrate looked at her in astonishment, as if she'd asked how he could be certain it was day and not night.

Richard took a step forward, "The banelings have been killing women who are with child, haven't they?"

Kahlan turned towards him, and though her face remained calm, he could see the swell of grief in her eyes. "Like Marla," she whispered.

The Magistrate looked relieved that someone else had spoken up and nodded several times. "It is as you say, Seeker. I must confess I'm surprised this is the first you've heard of it," he said quietly. "Baneling hordes have been sweeping the countryside all winter, murdering women with child. We'd thought we were prepared. I had guards check on our expectant mothers every day, but we are not a fighting people, and we were overwhelmed by them yesterday morning."

He shuddered and smoothed a hand down his vest. "Near two dozen of them swarmed our village. They slaughtered three women in the most brutal manner." His beady eyes watered as he recounted their deaths, "We killed several of them, but it did not matter – the banelings were unrelenting in reaching their goal. It seemed irrelevant to them how many died in the process. Only Lucinda escaped as her condition is not yet obvious." He gestured towards a young woman in the crowd, his voice shaking, "We are now doing all we can to ensure they do not come back and murder her too."

Kahlan laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I understand your caution now," she said softly. "We were trapped in the mountains until recently and didn't know. I fear this is happening because of me."

The Magistrate looked confused. "Mother Confessor, what do you mean?"

She squared her shoulders. Richard knew the Magistrate could not begin to imagine the effort it took for her to keep her voice calm when she said, "The Keeper hunts my child. The banelings must be killing these women in the hopes that one might be me."

Zedd cleared his throat. "I think there's more to it than that. If the Keeper's only goal was your death, his energies could be much better spent in searching for you, than in terrorizing small villages." He paused, his wiry brows lowering over pale, stormy eyes, "This is a direct insult to the Creator. Nowhere in this world is her strength greater, her power more absolute than in the creation of new life. The Keeper means to send a message to the world of life with these attacks."

"Dear spirits, we have heard his message," whispered the Magistrate. Behind him, the funeral pyres burned higher, leaking black smoke into the bright day. He gestured weakly towards the barred gate, "As humble as our walls are, you and your companions are welcome to what protection they give. You will be in danger on the open road."

Kahlan shook her head. "No, I'm afraid we must be going. This news has only made our quest more urgent."

"Then at least let me get you better horses? I have a mare who is well broke in, calm as can be. You'll have an easier time riding her in your condition, Mother Confessor."

She thanked him for the kindness, and the Magistrate hurried away with his attendants to fetch the promised horses. When they were gone, Kahlan turned towards him. Richard saw the façade of the Mother Confessor fall and shatter like a sheet of glass, leaving her standing before him a terrified woman, clutching at the life in her womb like it was all she had in the world. "Richard," she said. "What do we do?"

He put an arm around her and drew her close because he had no answer. "We keep fighting," he said. But what echoed inside his head was the old woman's promise and Shota's prophecy – the Stone of Tears could not be found. He watched the bodies burn and held her closer still.

When the Magistrate returned, it was with new, finer horses. He refused to accept any increase in payment, claiming it was the least he could do to make up for the unintended slight to the Mother Confessor. They thanked him for his generosity – even Cara gave a slight tilt of her head – and were getting ready to depart when one of the attendants stepped forward and whispered in the Magistrate's ear. A look of realization crossed his face.

He bustled forward again and said, "Mother Confessor, forgive me, I've just been reminded. A few days before the baneling attack, three women passed this way. They were looking for you."

Richard's heart leapt into his throat, "For Kahlan? Why?"

"They did not say. They were strange women with strange dress unlike to ours. They inquired after the Mother Confessor, and when no one knew of her whereabouts, they departed. It was most unusual."

Richard found he could barely breathe. Fear and fury knotted together beneath his skin. "Can you tell us anything else?"

He considered a moment, scratching at his scraggily beard. "If I recall correctly, one was older and graying, the other two younger – one had darker hair and I believe the other more golden. They all rode in on horseback." He hesitated, "Is something wrong?"

It was Cara who said what he knew they all were thinking. "The Keeper's daughters." Richard nodded. He couldn't see it, but Kahlan was standing close enough that he felt the tremor that ran through her.

"The Keeper's daughters?" echoed the Magistrate.

"The women who hunt me and my child," said Kahlan in a voice he knew was far calmer than she felt. Even still, it shook a little. He felt just as rattled. They'd gone so long with no sign of the women from the prophecy that he'd begun to discount them as a threat.

"If they return, use caution," continued Kahlan. "It may be best to pretend you never saw us." The Magistrate gave a solemn nod, swearing to do as she said, and the four of them set off on horseback from the village.

**xxx**

They traveled east for over a week in a state of constant unease. Richard investigated every slight sound he heard when he stood watch at night, and they stopped letting Kahlan go anywhere alone. His nerves jangled at every bird call. It almost seemed a relief when it finally happened. They were making slow progress across an open meadow of melting snow, their horses' hooves squelching and leaving thick prints in the mud, when three figures appeared on the horizon.

They exchanged worried looks. There was nowhere to hide in the flat grassland, and the three figures were riding straight for them.

"It could be a coincidence," said Zedd. "Just three travelers on the road."

"Or they could be the Keeper's daughters," said Richard, squinting at the riders. He would not take any risks – not when it came to Kahlan's life.

She called for him with real panic in her voice, and he urged his horse closer to hers. "Richard," she said again, her blue eyes wide and frightened. "I can't balance up here like I used to. If we try to outrun them, I will fall from my horse."

He nodded – he had already guessed as much. "We're not outrunning them. We're going to fight them. They are only three. You stay behind us. Zedd, Cara and I can take them."

"It will be a pleasure," said Cara, sounding positively eager.

Richard looked back at the approaching riders, trying to judge how much time they had before they were upon them. It wouldn't be long. He reined in his horse and said, "We might as well wait for them to come to us and save our strength. I don't want you up on that horse when they get here. She's calm, but she's no warhorse. It'd be too easy for her to spook or throw you."

He dismounted and then hoisted Kahlan down from the saddle. Her belly was getting big enough that she could no longer do so safely on her own. He squeezed her hand and steadied her.

"I'm not used to this," she whispered to him. "Not being able to fight. I don't like it, Richard."

"I know," he said quietly. He smiled at her, trying to at least spare her his fear. He wondered if she could hear the thundering of his heart. "It's going to be all right," he promised. "I won't let them lay so much as a finger on you." He would die before they touched her, and he knew from the looks on Zedd and Cara's faces that they would too.

Silence fell over their little group, the three of them moving to stand in front of Kahlan. They watched the approaching riders grow larger as they galloped across the brown and muddied grass. Gray clouds rolled overhead, and the figures began to take shape. They were women, all veiled and dressed in matching gowns of flowing red. Despite the cold, they wore no cloaks, and together they rode like the wind.

"Kahlan!" cried one of the women. "Kahlan Amnell!" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kahlan stiffen.

As the women neared, he saw they were as the Magistrate had described. The one who rode in front was older, gray hair fanning out from beneath her red veil. The two behind her were younger – one dark and one fair.

Richard lifted the Sword of Truth and bathed in the rage. He was lost to the fury, staring at the women with the promise of death in his eyes when Kahlan grabbed his arm.

"Richard, put down your sword!" she gasped. "I know them. They're Sisters of the Light!"


	22. Isobel

**XXII. ISOBEL**

Richard stared up at the women approaching on horseback, not loosening his hold on his sword. "You know them?" he asked Kahlan incredulously.

"Yes," said Kahlan, still keeping her grip on his arm. "One of them, anyway. The older one is Sister Isobel, the woman who raised me."

Cara looked over and asked, "So we're not killing anyone today?"

"No," said Richard. "Not yet." He barely noticed the Mord-Sith's resigned sigh. He lowered his sword, but kept it out. The sudden appearance of friends instead of foes seemed too great a coincidence to trust, and the fury of the sword still coursed through him, ready to respond to any threat the women presented. "Could it be a trick?" he said to Zedd, but the wizard shook his head.

"I don't sense any spell in use, but let's use caution here."

Kahlan didn't seem to hear them; she was smiling a teary-eyed, disbelieving smile as the women reined in their horses and the older one dismounted, still calling her name. The woman hurried forward across the muddied ground, the silky red material of her dress flapping in the wind, and Kahlan slipped past the protective ring they'd formed around her to greet the stranger.

"Sister Isobel!" she called.

Isobel pulled her into a hug, clinging to her like someone beloved and long lost, while Richard and the others stood back, watching. "Kahlan!" she cried in a warm, happy voice. "Look at how you've grown. The last time I saw you, why you were hardly more than a child. You didn't reach past my shoulder." Now, Kahlan stood at least a head and a half taller than the wiry, graying sister. "You've grown into a beautiful woman, and about to have a child of your own, I see." She rested an uninvited hand against Kahlan's belly, but Kahlan didn't seem to mind. "When is the child to come?" asked Isobel.

"In the spring," she said.

"The snow already melts," said Isobel. "We found you just in time!"

"What do you mean, you found her?" said Richard. Though he was no longer calling on the sword's magic, it refused to fade, lingering like a warning beneath his skin. He couldn't shake his sense of unease, but Kahlan grabbed the older woman's hand and tugged her forward in an echo of the child she must have once been.

"Come!" she was saying. "I want you to meet my friends." The younger sisters had dismounted, but they hung back, staying close to their horses. Richard kept a sharp eye to them.

"Richard!" Kahlan gave him a luminous smile as she neared him and said, "Richard, this is Sister Isobel. I've told you about her. She's one of the Sisters of the Light who raised me." She laid a hand on Isobel's arm and added, "Sister Isobel, this is Richard, the Seeker of Truth."

"And the father of your child," said the sister in a knowing voice. Kahlan beamed at him with pride and nodded her head, but he stared at Isobel.

"How do you know that?" he demanded.

"Do you see any other strong, handsome men around?" she asked with a wink. Richard just frowned. That was not the true explanation, and they both knew it. "Very well," she said as she adjusted the red veil flowing over her gray hair. "I could hardly expect the Seeker to be satisfied with less than the truth. I learned this from a prophecy."

If that was the truth, he wanted to hear more of it, but Kahlan spoke up again before he could ask another question. She introduced Zedd and Cara in a happy rush, clearly overjoyed to have someone from her childhood returned to her. It brought out an innocent, trusting side in her that he had never seen before, and the two women fell to talking in hushed voices, retreating from the little group a few steps as Isobel put an arm around Kahlan and drew her close.

"Tell me," he heard her say. "How are you feeling? Are you well?" Kahlan smiled and said that she was fine. "And do you have a name for your little one yet?"

"No," said Kahlan softly and glanced his way. He forced himself to smile for her sake. "Not yet," she said, resting a hand on her belly. They continued their quiet conversation, leaving the other two sisters still standing by their horses, and Richard alone with Zedd and Cara.

"If you don't do something to stop this," said Cara in a low voice. "That woman will soon have her sitting in a rocking chair, knitting baby blankets!"

"Perhaps that is what Kahlan wants," said Zedd quietly. "She is about to become a mother to a babe she has had no time to prepare for, because she is constantly traveling. Now here is a woman who loved Kahlan as a child and could help her. I imagine it is almost like having her own mother returned to her right when she needs her most." He knew Zedd's words were meant for him more than Cara, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched Kahlan with the sister, trying to decide the truth of it. She had always insisted on coming with since the beginning, had been furious with him for suggesting she stay behind at Thandor. He wondered if he should have stopped and built a house for her somewhere, but the quest didn't leave time for such things. He felt the punishing anger of the sword pulsing beneath his skin again, reminding him that Kahlan suffered because of him.

Through the haze of magic, he studied Isobel, taking in the woman's petite frame and her soft, smiling face, with wide set gray eyes to match the loose curls of her hair. She looked the very definition of harmless, but the sword's magic thundered through him as honed and deadly as it ever grew in battle. Though he did not know what prompted it, he vowed to himself that he would not leave Kahlan alone with these women.

At last, he could stand it no longer, and stepped towards Isobel, asking, "What of these two? Do they have names?" Kahlan looked up, and he knew she was frowning at his tone, but Isobel gave him an endlessly patient smile.

"Of course they have names," she said. "Forgive me for leaving you standing there like strangers." She beckoned to the two women with a tilt of her head, and at least that was something learned. He hadn't had much doubt before, but now he was certain that Sister Isobel was in charge of their little group.

The sisters came forward, and she gestured towards the fairer one, "This is Sister Ariel," she said. The young woman said nothing, giving them only a small and fleeting smile. Her thick, golden hair was as resplendent as the sun, but her face was plain and seemed at odds with the beauty of her hair. "And over here is Sister Hanna." Isobel nodded towards the darker one with thick, black curls and eerie, midnight eyes. Unlike Ariel, Hanna offered no smile.

"It's wonderful to meet you both," said Kahlan with true delight in her voice. "I have such fond memories of my time with the Sisters of the Light."

The two sisters nodded, but remained mute. When Isobel saw Richard's frown, she nudged Hanna, who stood nearer. "You vex me with that tongue of yours all day long, and now you have nothing to say?"

Hanna hesitated a moment and then turned to Kahlan. "It is a relief to have found you, Mother Confessor, after searching so long," she said in a halting, stilted voice. Richard swore he caught her dark eyes make the briefest flicker towards Isobel when she finished, as if asking for approval.

Isobel showed no sign of acknowledging the look. Instead, she gathered up Kahlan's hands, squeezing them and giving them a little pat. "I'm afraid they're uneasy about speaking in front of the Mother Confessor. I always thought you might be the one to bear that great title one day," she said with a proud smile. But all Richard could think of was that no one could lie to a Confessor.

"You still haven't told me why you were searching for Kahlan," he said. "Or what prophecy you spoke of earlier."

"You ask many questions, Seeker," said Isobel in a pleasant voice. "I see you take Kahlan's protection seriously, as you should. But do not worry; I will answer your questions. Will that put your mind at ease?"

"That depends on your answers," he said, and Kahlan shot him a look as sharp as her daggers.

Isobel seemed not to mind. She only smiled and said, "Sister Hanna is strongly gifted in foresight." He looked at the darker sister's unsmiling face and the unsettling blackness of her eyes, so dark that they reminded him of Kahlan's in the midst of confession. "She saw that the Mother Confessor would bear the Seeker's child, and that the Keeper would desire this soul. Sister Hanna knew that I had cared for Kahlan as a child, and so informed me of her vision. We set out to find you at once," she said, turning to Kahlan. "I looked first in Aydindril, but you were not there."

"No," said Kahlan. "I have been with Richard."

"But why did you search for her?" he demanded. It seemed too great a coincidence that two sets of women had learned of Kahlan's child through prophecy and set out to find her. He took a hold of his sword, letting the rage flow through him, "Did you intend to kill Kahlan when you found her?"

Kahlan's blue eyes flashed. "Richard!"

"I have found her," said Isobel with a light, tinkling laugh. "Have I tried to stick my dacra into your side, child?"

"No," said Kahlan in a heated voice, still glaring at Richard. "You have not."

"Answer the question," said Richard through gritted teeth, because he swore that was not an answer, but a clever way to get around a lie. "Look into her eyes and answer the question, or I swear I will kill you where you stand." Kahlan's eyes filled with furious tears, but he ignored them. He would gladly suffer her anger if it spared her life.

Isobel did as he asked and faced Kahlan, touching a wrinkled hand to her cheek. "My little Kahlan," she murmured. "I did not come here to kill you. Neither did Sister Hanna, nor Sister Ariel."

"She is telling the truth," hissed Kahlan, filled with more anger than he had ever seen before, save for when she was consumed by the fierce, primal wrath of the Con Dar. Somehow, he thought that would have been easier to bear than the raw fury and pain of the woman he loved. "Are you satisfied?"

Richard felt his face burn with shame and said nothing. It was Isobel who spoke, patting Kahlan's back with a motherly hand, "He is trying to protect you, that is all." Kahlan folded her arms above her belly and looked away. "Any more questions, Seeker?" continued the sister with no more reproach than a slightly raised eyebrow.

He did not dare to look at Kahlan when he spoke, "You still have not told me why you came for her."

"To offer to keep her safe until it is time for her child to be born," said Isobel calmly. He found her constant calmness infuriating. She turned to Kahlan, fussing with her cloak and hair like she was still a little girl. "You say you are well, but I can see that you are weary. My sisters and I would be glad to take care of you, while the Seeker and your friends continue on with their quest."

Richard waited with bated breath. Though he had no proof, he could not shake the feeling that it would be a grave mistake to leave Kahlan with these women. However, Kahlan was not one to take orders from anyone. And as angry as she was with him right now, she would be in no mood to heed his advice. He wondered if she would go with the sisters to spite him. But more than that, he feared that she might truly want to join them. He did not know how to ask her to keep struggling on each day, if all she wanted was to stop and rest for the birth of their child. But to his surprise, she shook her head.

"You are very kind," she said quietly. "But my place is with Richard." He could see in her eyes that she was still furious, but even that did not lessen the love with which she said his name. "I must go on."

"I thought you might say as much," said Isobel. "I have heard of your love for him, and his for you. But I have traveled far and long to find you, let us at least rest and talk a little longer. Can you spare me an hour from your quest, my little Kahlan?"

Kahlan shot him a look that said quite plainly that they very well could, and Richard nodded despite Cara's rolled eyes. "We can spare an hour," he said. He doubted he could refuse her anything.

The seven of them settled on the driest patch of brown grass they could find and passed around what food they had in their packs. The air was tense, and Kahlan barely glanced his way. What little was said was due mostly to her and Isobel. The two women sat side by side, sharing memories of the time Kahlan had spent as a child in Thandor. He listened for awhile, glad that Kahlan had some happy childhood memories after the trauma he knew she'd endured at the hands of her father, but eventually he turned to the blonde Sister Ariel. She had sat silently beside him the entire time, taking occasional nibbles on a wedge of cheese.

Richard reached into his pack and took out the dacra he'd carried with him since leaving the mountains. "I found this embedded in the forehead of an Ashkari scholar," he said as he dropped the weapon into Ariel's lap. "I believe it is one of yours."

Silence fell over the assembled group, and she stared down at the dacra, her mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. "It is a dacra," Ariel stated in a halting, uneasy voice much like the one Hanna had used.

"I know it's a dacra," said Richard. "What I don't know is why one of the Sisters of the Light embedded it in a dead man's skull. Or what they did to frighten an entire community into mass suicide. Care to tell me?"

Isobel leaned forward and snatched the weapon from Ariel's lap. He tensed, watching as she spun the beautiful, three pronged blade in her hand with a deft skill that suggested many years of training. She gave the dacra a fond smile, and at last allowed it to come to rest against her open palm. "Many have tried for years to find the hidden city of Ashkari," she said. "How is it that you managed to succeed where countless others have failed?"

"The compass led me there," said Richard stiffly, never taking his eyes from the dacra. He remembered Kahlan had said it could kill in an instant.

Isobel nodded, turning the blade over. After a long silence, she spoke, "It is not the way of the Sisters of the Light to seek out and destroy another community, even though the scholars you spoke of have shunned the Creator's light by studying the Keeper." Richard thought of the exquisite mural in the library at Ashkari, how it paid tribute to the glorious beauty of the rising sun. The scholars had not shunned the light, but merely sought to also understand its opposite. He wondered what Sister Isobel would think of him if she knew he spent hours every night studying one of their books on the Underworld.

She flipped the dacra in her hand and tucked it away in her boot, saying, "What you discovered in Ashkari was not the work of Sisters of the Light, but Sisters of the Dark."

"Sisters of the Dark?" said Cara in a sharp voice.

"Sisters who have turned to serving the Keeper."

"Who are they?" said Richard. "Where are they?"

"I cannot say. Sisters of the Dark do not reveal themselves, but work in secret," said Isobel. Her solemn gray eyes seemed to look right through him. "I can see you are worried I am one of them. Perhaps you will look on me more kindly, Seeker, if I give you information that may help you. It is the Sisters of the Dark who hunt Kahlan."

Kahlan straightened up, her waterskin halting on its way to her mouth. "But the prophecy made no mention of Sisters of the Dark!"

"Tell me what prophecy you have heard," urged Isobel. "And perhaps I can shed some light on it."

Kahlan wove her hands together, reciting from memory the same words that had been engraved in his mind since Shota first spoke them, "_The Keeper's daughters hunt the one conceived in sorrow – child of love and fury – for their master lusts for its soul. If he gains it, the one in white will perish and all life shall follow her. But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living_."

When she fell silent, it felt to Richard as if the air had suddenly grown colder, the sky darker. There was no flavor left in the food. But Isobel smiled quite delightedly and brushed breadcrumbs from her lap. "Ah, there is your problem!" she said. "The Keeper's daughters – that is a turn of phrase. You spent several years in Thandor. Did you not often hear a sister refer to herself as one of the Creator's daughters?"

"Often," said Kahlan.

"This is the same. Sisters of the Dark are daughters of the Keeper. As to where they are, I have heard a rumor that many sisters are amassing far to the east, near the border with D'Hara, at the site of the Great Rift."

"The Great Rift?" echoed Richard. "What place is that?"

Isobel sighed and said, "The Great Rift is an opening to the Underworld far greater in size than any other tear in the veil. It is a place of tremendous power – a sign of the Keeper's increasing dominion over the world of life. I would not presume to advise the Seeker on his quest, but it may be of benefit to you to travel there. You would learn much. Perhaps you would even be able to destroy some of these Sisters of the Dark who threaten your beloved. If you like, I will lead you there."

"No," said Richard, trying to hide his interest in the place. His unease still lingered, and the last thing he wanted was to keep these women close. "The compass is leading south, and I must follow it," he lied. The compass currently pointed east, but only Kahlan caught his lie. He could see the realization in her eyes, but she did not give it away with so much as a tilt of her head. He wondered how sharp her anger would be when she unleashed it later.

He expected Isobel to push her offer, but she only smiled and said, "You are the Seeker. I am sure you know best how to follow your quest."

"Yes." He stood abruptly. "And we should get back to it. I'll ready the horses." Zedd and Cara got up and said quick goodbyes, but Kahlan lingered with Isobel until the last possible moment, the two women whispering with their heads bent together. They hugged when they parted, and though Kahlan let him help her up onto her horse, she did not give him her usual smile.

They rode south in a smothering, stony silence all afternoon. When he finally swung the horses back east in their original direction, he thought Kahlan would have something to say about the lie she'd caught him in, but even then she said nothing. When he could bear it no longer, he urged his horse over to hers and asked to talk to her. Her blue eyes were icy, but she nodded, and they let their horses fall back until they rode a good distance behind Zedd and Cara.

"What is it?" she asked in a quiet, tired voice.

"I thought you might want to yell at me," he said. He would welcome it at this point.

She stared straight ahead at the rolling hills. "I don't want to yell at you, Richard."

He sighed, "Kahlan, I'm sorry."

She finally looked at him then, and to his surprise, her eyes were filled with tears. "You were so cruel to her," she whispered. "Sister Isobel raised me. I know she did not give birth to me, but she was like a second mother to me for a time. Do you know how happy I was to see her today? I thought we were going to die, and then to see her instead! I could hardly believe my eyes. I was so excited for you to meet her and for her to meet you, and you did not have one kind word for her. Not one." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Kahlan seemed not to hear him. "You accused her of coming to kill me!" she cried. "And threatened to murder her yourself! The very woman who saved me from my father. You have no idea what she rescued me from, Richard. None. I have not begun to tell you half of what was done to me by my father, because it would only give you pain, but she knows all of it." She pursed her lips together, staring down at the saddle. Her knuckles were white from how hard she gripped the reins.

Her voice grew faint and faraway, speaking from out of the depths of long silenced memories, "When I first went to Thandor, I would often wake from nightmares of my father finding us again. She slept on the hard floor of my room ever night just to be there to comfort me when I started screaming. Besides me, she was the only person who could make Dennee smile! I know why you did what you did. And that we have ridden south all day because you wanted to throw them off our trail. But since you seem to have no faith in my judgment, perhaps it will comfort you to know that every word she spoke was true."

Richard felt as if he sat drowning beneath a cold wash of guilt. He had only wanted to keep her safe. "I have faith in your judgment," he promised. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't a trick. Two sets of women both looking for you? It seemed to great a coincidence to trust. And they passed through that village right before the baneling attack!" He twisted in the saddle to look at her, "It made me uneasy, Kahlan. Did you see how the other sisters refused to speak? It was as if they were afraid to open their mouths and have you catch them in a lie."

"Maybe they were," said Kahlan. He started at her words. "I'm a Confessor. It makes people uncomfortable, knowing that they could say something as innocent as a meal tastes delicious to avoid hurting the feelings of their host, and I will know it for a lie. My whole life, people have reacted to me as those two did. That is nothing new."

Richard nodded, staring out at the melting snowdrifts. Kahlan's life had been a lonely one since birth, and he had ruined what should have been a happy reunion with one of the few people who hadn't held her magic against her. The anger of the Sword of Truth struck him sharp like the crack of a whip, and his eyes stung. "I was wrong," he said quietly. "Can you ever forgive me?"

She let out a tired, watery laugh and pushed at her hair. "Of course I can forgive you. You acted out of love for me, not a desire to be cruel. But Richard, I would not distrust someone you trusted. I accepted Cara on your word."

She had. Even though the woman had killed her sister and countless others, she had let his word be enough. He forced away his lingering unease and vowed to do the same.

They rode in silence awhile longer, though this time it was companionable. He studied her out of the corner of his eye, taking in her swollen belly and the awkward way she now had to sit in the saddle because of it. Though she tried to hide it, the discomfort of riding in her condition showed in the pinched lines around her mouth. "What is it?" asked Kahlan when she caught him looking.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Would you have been happier with the sisters? Preparing for the baby?"

"No." She spoke with a vehemence that surprised him.

"I'm sorry we don't have a home," he continued. "Some place to make ready for her." There was so much he wished they could do differently. Kahlan deserved a bed to sleep in. A home to have decorated however she wanted. With a cradle and blankets and a doll for their daughter. He wanted to worry over her day and night, not because the Keeper was trying to kill her, but because her feet ached, or she wanted a plate full of honey cakes when they didn't have any.

But she reached across the distance between their horses and took his hand. "My home is with you, Richard," said Kahlan quietly. "I don't need anything else. She can be born in the forest or on the road so long as you're there with me when it happens."

"I will be," said Richard. He swore to himself that not even the Keeper of the Underworld would keep him from her side when the time came for their daughter to be born.


	23. East

**XXIII. EAST**

Richard walked the perimeter of the camp, scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. All was quiet and untroubled, but he couldn't shake the sensation that he was being watched. He stilled and stared off into the black night, watching and listening for a long time, but as usual there was no sign of anyone about. When he started pacing again, the feeling lingered. It reminded him of the creeping sensation he got when someone snuck up on him from behind. He whirled around to find no one there – just bare trees and a dry tangle of undergrowth. The feeling had haunted him since leaving the Sisters of the Light three days before, but no harm ever came from it. Nor did he ever find a sign of someone following. If they were out there, they were even better at hiding their tracks than he was.

Slowly he worked his way back towards the warmth of the campfire, glancing over to where Kahlan slept on her side, her dark hair obscuring her face and fluttering softly with each breath. A hand rested over her swollen belly. He stood still a moment, just drinking in the sight of her, before settling down by the fire. As quietly as he could, he eased the black book from Ashkari out of his pack, smoothing his palm over the lines of the Grace on the cover. The words inside the book were becoming as familiar to him as his own name. He turned to a passage that had always confused him – the use of what the scholars called a Fatal Grace. Apparently a Fatal Grace was common knowledge to them, enough to require no explanation. He'd thought of asking Zedd, but he didn't want to be told a second time that he was foolishly risking Kahlan's life. The spirits knew that was the last thing in the world he would ever do.

After rereading the passage several times, he slammed the book shut and returned to pacing. His thoughts churned, and he was lost to them until a slight rustling behind him made his ears prick. Richard turned, a hand going for his sword. "Easy, my boy," called Zedd quietly. "It's just me."

He loosened his grip on the hilt, frowning at his grandfather. "It's not your watch yet," he said, feeling suddenly irritated by his presence. "I was going to wake you when it was time."

Zedd waved a hand. "Couldn't sleep. I thought you might like some company." Richard nodded but said nothing, staring down at the book by the fire. He wished he'd shoved it out of sight before getting up again, and then wondered at himself for hiding things from his own grandfather. It never used to be this way, but lately it seemed as if he and Zedd had grown apart. He wanted to ask his advice on so many things, not just the quest, but what it was like to be a father too. Yet anger always seemed to rise up in him instead, chasing the questions away.

Zedd settled on a fallen log, patting the space beside him. Richard sat down reluctantly. Though the book was in his line of sight, the old wizard made no mention of it for the moment. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Rather chilly night, isn't it?" Richard only nodded. "At least Kahlan looks to be sleeping well," Zedd added.

"What did you come here to say, Zedd?" he snapped. He knew it wasn't really the temperature or Kahlan's sleeping habits that had him up in the dead of night.

The wizard watched the fire, the orange glow caught in his white hair. When he spoke, his voice was soft and quiet, as weathered as his skin. "You've seemed troubled lately. But you've been awfully quiet about whatever it is that has you worried." Richard said nothing, and Zedd heaved a weary sigh, "You used to confide in me, my boy."

Richard studied the obscure darkness beyond the camp and gave in, admitting to the easiest worry. It would be worth sounding paranoid if it helped to protect Kahlan. "I feel like we're being followed," he said. "I never see any signs though. It's just a feeling." He raked a hand back through his disheveled hair and looked up at Zedd. "Can you sense anyone? Magically?"

Zedd's expression grew thoughtful and he closed his eyes, sitting so still and breathing so evenly it almost seemed like he slept where he sat. When his eyes at last popped open again, bright and pale in the firelight, it was only to shake his head. "No," he said. "If there is anyone out there, they're masking their presence with magic too subtle for me to detect. But it would take a very skilled wizard to manage that."

"Right." Richard scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground and muttered, "The Sisters of the Light are sorceresses. They're skilled with magic." The thought had plagued him for the past three days.

"And they raised Kahlan with kind, loving intentions," said Zedd. "If she trusts them, so should we." Richard scowled and tugged his cloak close against the night wind, trying his hardest to think kindly of Sister Isobel and her companions. Doubting them felt too much like doubting Kahlan, and he hated that.

Feeling restless, he got up to tend the fire and did not sit down again. He stood with his back to Zedd, considering the high, cold stars scattered across the endless blackness. He felt like the night was about to swallow him whole.

Behind him, Zedd cleared his throat, "Learning anything useful in here?" Richard looked back to find his grandfather had picked up the black book from Ashkari and was turning it over in his hands.

Another surge of annoyance shot through him, and Richard held his grandfather's gaze as he asked, "What's a Fatal Grace?" Zedd paled visibly, his brows puckering together in a heavy frown. He could tell Zedd was deciding how much to reveal to him, and that angered him. "Tell me," he demanded in a rough voice, his words backed by a sudden surge of magic from the sword.

The old wizard finally nodded. "A Fatal Grace," he began quietly, "is a Grace drawn in reverse. It is customary to start by drawing the star, and work your way out until reaching the final circle. In a Fatal Grace, you start with the outermost circle and proceed inward until the star. It is rarely used because it always results in the death of the caster. Wizards in the past used it as a particularly violent form of suicide – the body is literally torn apart by the magic summoned to the center of the Grace. Why do you ask?" he added in a voice as steely as his eyes.

"It's referenced in the book," said Richard. He sat down, taking the book from Zedd's hands, and flipping it open to the pages he'd been studying. "One of the scholars used a Fatal Grace to save his daughter's life when she was caught by the Keeper's hound. Here, I'll read it to you." He leaned forward, squinting to make out the words by the firelight, "When it was discovered that Jocelyn had journeyed to the Underworld, her father drew from his own blood a Fatal Grace, and fell on his knife before it could claim him. We thought it was an act of wild grief, but Jocelyn was recovered that next morning. She suffered less madness than the others and spoke plainly, claiming that her father appeared before her in the Underworld, holding off the Ripper long enough for her to return to the world of life. She says the fires of the Underworld had no effect on him, and, unlike the other souls, he could move freely, unbound by the Keeper of the Dead. It was as if the Creator herself was with him there. Though he is lost to us now, his body remained intact until dawn, when the Fatal Grace at last ripped him apart."

When he fell silent, Zedd sat staring into the fire, saying nothing. Richard cleared his throat. "What do you make of that?"

Zedd turned to look his way. "The scholars were dangerous people. I think you should stop trying to find hope in that book, and trust the tools we already have."

"You mean the compass," muttered Richard. It dangled from his waist like a chain. There were times when he wanted to take up the small, shining orb and hurl it as far away from him as he could, but Zedd nodded.

"Yes. It hasn't led us astray yet."

Richard shook his head, fighting against the urge to argue. It would only wake Kahlan. "You should get some sleep," he said in an empty voice. "It's not your watch."

Zedd stared at him a long time, but Richard stared past him, not wanting to see the hurt he had just put in his grandfather's eyes. At last Zedd nodded and rose, heading to his bedroll in heavy silence. Richard sat unmoving until Zedd began to snore again, and then he let his head fall forward to rest in his hands, choking on a scream he wouldn't let out, his eyes brimming with hot, frustrated tears he blinked away.

He sat there brooding a long time before he heard Kahlan call to him. "Richard?" She spoke softly from her bedroll by the fire, and Richard turned, wiping his tears hastily on his sleeve. Her expression was groggy, and she seemed to have just awoken.

"What is it?" he asked, hurrying to her side.

Kahlan gave him a sleepy smile, pushing herself up on her elbow. "Would you get me my waterskin?" she asked, tilting her head towards where it rested beside her pack.

"Of course," he said, smoothing the hair back from her brow. He knew what a struggle it had become for her to get from lying on the ground to standing on her feet, and he was more than happy to let her keep resting while he fetched whatever she needed.

When he returned and held the waterskin to her lips, Kahlan drank from it deeply. "Thank you," she murmured as she pulled away, her lips now wet and glistening. "I was so thirsty it must have woken me up. I'll put it here so I can reach it without troubling you next time," she said, taking the waterskin from him and placing it beside her bedroll.

Richard shook his head. "It's no trouble."

She smiled at that and reached up, caressing his cheek. He realized when her fingers found the lingering dampness of his tears. They stilled against his skin, and she stared at him a long time, her lips pursed together. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said, though he knew it was useless to lie to her. "It's nothing."

"Richard," she insisted, tugging him closer. "What is it?"

He squeezed her hand, "It's nothing you need to worry about."

She frowned at that and struggled to sit up, the bulk of her belly making her flounder. Richard leaned forward and helped ease her up so they sat side by side on the ground. "I hate to watch you carry everything alone," she said, still tracing the lines of his face. "Tell me."

He wanted to say that it was enough that she carried their child, and that he would carry the rest, but she was soft and warm, and there was no resisting. "I think we need to go east," he said quietly, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her fingers combed through his hair and held him there. The thought had been in his mind ever since the compass began steering them south, away from the Great Rift, but he'd been hesitant to voice it.

"The compass isn't pointing east, is it?" she said in a knowing voice.

"No, it still points south," said Richard. "But I think we need to go to the Great Rift. It can't just be a coincidence that so many Sisters of the Dark are amassing there."

Kahlan gave a slight nod. "Sister Isobel offered to take you there," she said. Richard stared down at the ground, trying to keep his dislike for the woman from showing on his face. He doubted that he was successful, but Kahlan made no mention of it. Instead, she said, "We'll be far outnumbered in such a place."

"I know," he said, standing up and leaving her on the ground. "And Zedd will hate the idea." He looked down at Kahlan, hoping she would understand, "But I think it's where I need to go. I need to do something!" he said, feeling hopelessness rising up like a wave to drown him.

"You mean something more than follow the compass?" she asked, rubbing a hand along her belly.

"It feels like a chain, Kahlan!" he said, yanking it from where it hung on his belt. He didn't realize how loudly he'd spoken until Cara grunted in her sleep. He froze, watching as she stirred and resettled, and then he sunk to his knees. He held the compass up before Kahlan, the silver casing glinting ominously in the firelight. "I wish I could be rid of it," he admitted in a whisper. "It will never lead us to the stone."

She reached out, closing her hand around the compass. "So be rid of it."

"On nothing more than a dream and a hunch?"

"It is more than that, or it would not eat at you so."

He closed his hand around hers, both of them holding the compass. "How can I lead you east? Into a place crawling with Sisters of the Dark and D'Harans? We'd be walking into a hornet's nest."

"Don't worry about me," said Kahlan.

Richard shook his head, "You'd have better luck asking the sun not to rise."

She smiled sadly and squeezed his hand, the compass caught between them. "We'll find a way. We've made it this far."

"But the compass? How can I just stop following it? I can't, Kahlan. I'm the Seeker." The librarian's promise to him echoed in his mind, and he felt half mad with uncertainty.

_If you cannot do this, the compass will cease to be a tool and become a trap, leading you forever in circles._

"Then let me do it for you," said Kahlan. He pulled back to look at her, confused by her words.

"What do you mean?" Instead of answering, she tugged the compass from his grasp and held it in her open palm. As he watched, she cast it in a long arc straight into the fire.

His mouth gaped open as the compass disappeared in the bright, orange flames. He remembered the wild, desperate feeling he'd felt when he tossed the Book of Counted Shadows into the fire well over a year ago. This felt much the same. "Why did you do that?" he asked, leaning a little towards the fire. He wondered if he should run to it and try to salvage the compass from its fiery death, but something held him still.

Kahlan stared at him, the flames reflecting in her eyes. "Because you could not," she said simply. "The compass is gone now, and you may hate me for it if you must."

He stared at her, bewildered. "Surely you know I could never hate you."

"Then perhaps you can have some peace about it," she said softly and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was brief, but his fingers still found time to tangle in her hair. Though their only tool in their quest lay melting in the fire, he felt lighter than he had in a long time. As if a heavy weight was gone from around his neck. Every crackle and hiss of the fire only reminded him how much he loved this woman. They pulled apart, and he rested his forehead against hers. "Let it burn," Kahlan murmured. "Tomorrow we go east."


	24. Journey

**XXIV. JOURNEY**

Kahlan shifted on her side, tugging her pack turned pillow further forward in an effort to make herself more comfortable. She wasn't sure why she even bothered anymore. There was no longer such a thing as comfortable. She felt stretched and strained in every direction, grown so big, and yet it seemed somehow as if there was no longer any room left inside her for herself. Kahlan rubbed a hand over the taut, strained skin of her belly, feeling the form of her child, and thinking absently of flipping to sleep on her other side. After a moment, she abandoned the idea; it wasn't worth the effort it would take her to turn over. She swallowed a frustrated sigh, staring up at the patches of bright blue sky she could glimpse through the thicket in which they had taken shelter.

It felt claustrophobic, the bushes and branches so very near as she tried to sleep, and her belly so large that the tiny space that was left for her was barely enough for the air.

A moment later, almost as if he'd sensed her unease, Richard scrambled back into the thicket from his turn standing watch. As he crouched down beneath the mess of branches with their tiny, budding leaves, his gaze settled first on her. "Why aren't you sleeping?" he asked. He spoke in a quiet voice, but more than a whisper, which meant that the path ahead as far as he could see lay clear. He crawled towards her, settling onto his empty bedroll where it lay squished beside hers.

Kahlan exhaled loudly. "I don't know," she muttered. "I can't."

Richard frowned at that, "You need your rest." She nodded, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears. "Hey," he went on quickly. "It's all right. I promise I'll help you fall asleep, just let me wake Cara for her watch first." With a fleeting smile, he was rolling away onto his other side, and nudging the nearby body of the Mord-Sith.

Kahlan waited, blinking away frustrated tears as Cara slipped from the shelter, stopping only long enough to give Zedd a whack when he started to snore. Richard resettled beside her, shifting so they rested face to face. The sunlight filtering through the thicket covered his skin with a dappled pattern of dark and light.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked softly. "Do you need anything?"

Kahlan shook her head. "No…I just can't," she said, hating how her voice came out as a whine. "I feel so huge." Spirits, all she wanted was to sleep. She ached all over from walking sunset to sunrise the night before. Her feet were blistered and swollen to the point where she had to choke back a sob every time Richard helped her pull her boots on.

"I know," he said, his brown eyes full of sympathy. "I know."

"I need her to be born already," said Kahlan. "I feel so big I can hardly move." Her eyes prickled with fresh tears. "I just need her to come out, Richard. I need…"

He pulled her towards him so her face was flat against his chest. It was probably at least in part to muffle the sound of her sobs, and keep her from revealing their hiding spot in the thicket, but Kahlan didn't care. His hand tangling in her hair and pressing her close was all she had to cling to right now.

"She'll be here soon," he promised. "This will all be over before you know it. It's already spring." In the three weeks they'd been traveling east, the trees had begun to bud, new leaves unfurling. A few early flowers were already pushing their way up through the dark earth. Their daughter would come soon after. Kahlan stiffened and lifted her head from his chest, panic seizing her.

"But we don't…we don't have," she gasped. "We don't even have a name for her, or…" She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. How could she have given no thought to a name for her daughter?

"We can name her," said Richard at once. "We can choose a name right now. What names do you like?"

"I don't know." She balled the fabric of his shirt up in her fist. "I can't think of any."

"Okay, well, do you like Laura?" he asked, pulling her closer. Kahlan shook her head again. That didn't feel like the right name at all. "Okay, okay, what about Tara? Or Ella?"

"No," she moaned. Richard hummed low in his throat, and rubbed his hand up and down her arm. He offered up name after name, even suggesting the names of her mother and sister, but it seemed all she could do was shake her head. Nothing sounded right. More tears streamed down her face, soaking his shirt and sticking to her skin, her mind full of visions of raising some poor, nameless daughter.

When she admitted as much, Richard chuckled and brushed at her damp cheeks. "She'll have a name," he promised. "You just need to meet her first. That's all. Once she's born, I'll put her in your arms, and when you see her face to face and hold her, you'll know what we should name our daughter. You'll know her name."

She caught his hand as he rubbed it in a circle over her belly, "I will?"

"You will," he promised. "When she's born."

"When she's born," echoed Kahlan quietly. She pushed away all thoughts of the prophecy surrounding the birth of their child. If she dwelt on that nightmare now, the tears would come back, and this time they would not stop no matter how long Richard shushed and soothed her. It took all her strength just to keep on traveling these days. She was losing the ability to focus on anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other. At least Richard seemed intuitively to understand.

"When we see her," he promised, pressing a tender kiss to her brow. "She'll be so beautiful, Kahlan." His fingers stroked her hair, his voice dropping to a low hum that seemed to reverberate somewhere deep inside of her. "So beautiful." She blinked, her eyelids at last growing heavy, his voice leading her into sleep.

**xxx**

The sun had set when she woke again, Richard's hand on her shoulder gently shaking her from slumber. Bowls were already filled with a tasteless mash of roots, accented by a few, bitter berries picked far too early. They'd let her sleep until the last possible moment, and they'd filled her bowl twice as full as any of their own. Kahlan was far past the point of protesting the ways they coddled her because of the child. She accepted her bowl with a thin smile, and the four of them ate in silence and growing darkness, the meal settling like a lump in her gut.

"Two more D'Harans rode by on my watch," said Cara, her voice breaking through the gloom.

Richard nodded; his spoon scraped along the bottom of his bowl. "I spotted three earlier myself. They're getting more and more frequent. We must be near the D'Haran border."

Cara nodded. "Not more than a day's ride, if we still had horses and could ride."

Kahlan's swallowed another mouthful of the bitter mash and tried not to feel like a useless lump of baggage. They had sold the horses over a week ago, for far less than they were worth, but it was either that or turn them free for nothing at all. The land was swarming with D'Harans, and it was far easier to slip past their patrols unnoticed when they crept along on foot. With horses, they would have been caught days ago, given that she couldn't ride fast enough to outpace anyone. The last thing the lawless, leaderless D'Harans needed was to discover that Richard Rahl was heading eastward towards D'Hara. Especially now that he was slowed to the pace of a helpless snail thanks to her and the child she carried. No one, not even Cara, had been so blunt about it, but she knew the way they traveled, the slowness and the secrecy, was entirely due to her. There were times she wanted to tell them to abandon her in the nearest ditch, she felt like such a burden, but at the same time, she found herself clinging to Richard more than she ever had before. She could not bear to let him out of her sight.

The others were still talking, deciding things without her as they now often did. "The rift isn't in D'Hara as far as we know," said Cara, setting down her empty bowl. "We need to turn north or south soon and start searching for it."

"Perhaps if we had the compass," began Zedd.

"We don't," said Richard harshly, his jaw set in a grim line. The missing compass had become the darkest cloud in the storm brewing between grandfather and grandson. Kahlan remembered well how angry Zedd had been when Richard confessed that the compass had been destroyed. He'd made no mention of her in his story, and had stood there bearing the blame for its destruction while Zedd vented his anger, shouting that he might as well take a torch to the Wizard's Keep next for all the respect he showed an ancient artifact of magic. When she could bear it no longer, Kahlan had spoken up and admitted she was the one to cast the compass into the fire.

Zedd had turned towards her, his face stony, but Richard had spoken before he could, his voice icy and terrible. "Say one word against her, and you will never see your great granddaughter." She still wasn't sure what exactly he'd been threatening. His words had been backed by the fury of the sword, and she hadn't dared to ask. Zedd had only nodded, and they'd rode due east all of that first day in brutal silence.

Richard was already getting to his feet. "We'll head southeast then and look for the rift," he said simply as he reached out his hand and helped her up as well. Her boots pinched her swollen feet as soon as she stood, but she tried to ignore it. The pain would only get worse as the night wore on.

"Southeast," she agreed, smiling at Richard. He sounded so much more certain of himself since abandoning the compass, and for that alone, she knew she could never regret what she had done, even though Zedd thought she'd lost her mind.

Cara swung her pack over her shoulder. "When will we see these Sisters of the Dark?" she said, pulling out an Agiel and weighing it in her palm, a sharp gleam in her eyes.

"They're about," said Zedd solemnly. "The air feels thick with magic that is not my own. We just haven't had the misfortune of meeting any yet."

"Let's hope our luck holds out," said Richard as they began to walk.

They made their way over vast, rolling grasslands that whispered in the night wind. What trees there were grew few and far between, offering poor shelter from unfriendly eyes, but the hills shielded them somewhat. Here and there in the distance, the grasses gave way to sand dunes that glittered silver beneath the waxing moon. The air smelled of sweet new grass, and though the breezes were cool, it was not unpleasant out. Kahlan stumbled now and then as she walked, but Richard was always there, catching her, steadying her and whispering words of encouragement in her ear. She would walk to the very edges of the world for him if that was what the spirits demanded, and as the night wore on, it felt as if that truly was what they asked of her.

It was still a few hours before dawn though when Richard stopped abruptly, throwing a hand up in the air. "Listen," he whispered. She did, and heard only silence. "Riders from the south. Sounds like three horses." She thought in a flash of Sister Isobel and her companions, though she wasn't sure why. Richard jerked his head towards a few scrappy bushes sprouting up from the grassland, the only cover to be found. "Cara, Zedd, take Kahlan and hide. I'll meet them. Hopefully it'll be a good enough distraction that they won't think to look further."

Cara snatched his arm. "Don't be a fool. Get behind the bushes where you belong." Richard looked at her, his expression as stubborn as the Mord-Sith's, though Kahlan nodded in agreement, her heart pounding in her chest. If they were D'Harans, they'd be delighted to have his head on a platter.

"If they're D'Harans, only I will know what to say to them," said Cara. "And if they're Sisters of the Dark, only I am immune to their magic." The horses' hooves had grown loud enough that she could hear them now, and it seemed impossibly loud like a drum beating inside her head. She wondered how the Mord-Sith could find time to boast, even now. "Hide her," insisted Cara. "And leave it to me. We could use some information."

"Don't do anything stupid," warned Richard before at last relenting. He looped an arm around her waist, half carrying her towards the bushes at a run. Zedd followed behind, mumbling under his breath. He cast his hand in a wide arc over the scrawny bushes, and Kahlan felt a faint, tingling sensation all along her skin.

"If they're Sisters of the Dark, they'll see right through the spell," said Zedd as he dropped down on the ground beside them. "But if they're only more soldiers, this will help us blend into the shadows to their eyes."

Both the men lay flat on their stomachs, peering out from between the branches, but her belly was far too big for that. She lay on her back, craning her neck so that she could just manage to see a little, though all was upside down and obscured. She reached for Richard's hand and squeezed it hard, and she could tell by the way his very skin seemed to hum that his other hand gripped his sword.

The riders at last crested the hill and came into view, and Kahlan could tell at once by their bulk that they were D'Haran soldiers. They rode straight for Cara, who simply kept walking as if she'd failed to notice the three men charging towards her. Though Cara had always been short, it was the first time Kahlan thought she actually seemed small, a lone figure on the path before three giant war horses barreling down on her.

They reigned in at the last possible moment, the horses rearing and tossing their heads, and even then, Cara didn't flinch. Kahlan clenched Richard's hand, and he squeezed back.

"It's a Mord-Sith," said one of the men, her Confessor's training making the fear in his voice shine as bright and clear as the moon. "I didn't recognize you without your hair in a braid, Mistress…" He waited for a name; Cara gave none.

One of the others cleared his throat, "A Mord-Sith?" Kahlan squinted and craned her neck back even further, but the most she could make out were shadowy, hulking shapes on horseback. "Our orders are to kill any Mord-Sith we meet."

She didn't need daylight to know that Cara was smirking at that. "I'd like to see you try," she said.

"It's our orders," continued the first man, and though his voice was rough and promising death, somehow he did not seem unkind.

"Whose orders?" asked Cara.

"General Nox's orders."

Cara smirked again, "I'd like to see him try."

"You know him?" The voice seemed to come from the man on the middle horse, but watching upside down and through the bushes, it was impossible to say for certain.

"Never heard of him," said Cara. "But if this is the best his men can do, it's no wonder D'Hara fell." She spread her arms wide, both hands empty of their Agiels, taunting him with her question, "Why aren't I dead yet?"

"Why isn't your hair in a braid?" countered the man. "And what happened to your uniform?" He leaned forward in the saddle, "General Nox also said these are strange times and to use our judgment, and I say you don't smell like your sisters."

"Yeah, where are your filthy witches?" chimed in another of the soldiers. "Your kind always travels with at least two."

"Witches?" said Cara sharply. "Sisters of the Dark?"

The man grumbled, "They call themselves that, yes."

Kahlan could practically hear Cara's lip curling back, "I'm here to kill them."

"So are we," said the man. They stared at each other in silent appraisal, and Kahlan realized how comfortable Cara seemed around these men. As if she belonged. "You could join us," he went on. "Unless you still insist on serving Darken Rahl like your sisters."

"Darken Rahl is dead."

"And still they serve."

"And who do you serve now?" asked Cara with a sneer, "Yourselves?"

"General Nox," said the man.

She scoffed, "I have no interest in serving petty generals pretending to be the next Lord Rahl."

The soldier bristled as if he'd been personally insulted. "General Nox knows he is not Lord Rahl," he snapped. "He makes no claim otherwise, but D'Hara is without a Lord Rahl, and he is the next best thing. You would do well to serve him."

"My Agiels still work," said Cara, the threat implicit in her words. "There must be a real Lord Rahl alive somewhere to serve."

The man snorted. "Only that bastard farm boy Richard Rahl. It'd be a mercy to kill him before he blunders his way to the throne."

Kahlan was amazed Cara didn't kill the man where he stood for that, but she stepped closer, grabbing his horse by its bridle. Her voice was low and dangerous when she spoke, "Our place is not to choose who we serve; it is only to serve.

He let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "If we still believed that, all four of us would be bowing down to a dead man alongside your worthless sisters."

Cara said nothing to that, but stared up at the men, toying with the chain on her Agiel. "You're in my way. Move before I decide to kill you."

The man looked over his shoulder the way they'd came riding. "Can't go that way," he said. "Scouts say the beast is out. General Nox has us on patrol, clearing all paths to the rift."

"The beast?" echoed Cara.

"Giant beast of a dog," said the soldier. "Twice as big as a man. It can snap your leg in two like a twig. I've heard your sisters are awfully fond of it." Kahlan closed her eyes, her mind filling with the hideous illustrations of the Keeper's hound Richard had found in the book from Ashkari.

Cara ran her hand up and down the length of her Agiel. "If it's such a problem, why haven't you killed it?"

"Plenty have tried," said the man. "Not one's managed to even come close. But it can't travel far from the rift, and it only comes out some nights. There's nothing to do but try and keep those foolish enough to be out at night from going too near, but looks like you're determined to be a fool."

"Maybe I'm just not afraid of a pup," said Cara. Kahlan couldn't stop the shudder that ran through her. She wanted to yank Cara safely back behind the bushes with the rest of them. They all knew it was far more than a harmless pup. It was the Keeper's personal hound, guardian of the Underworld, and somehow it was now free to enter the world of life. The child in her womb kicked, and tears pooled in her eyes, making it even harder to focus on the upside down scene. She wanted to scream or weep or wail at the horror that had come into the world, but instead she held her tongue and forced herself to focus all she had on the gentle sweep of Richard's thumb, traveling back and forth across her hand.

"I've already asked you to get out of my way," continued Cara, easing an Agiel free of its holster. "A Mord-Sith never asks twice."

One of the men began to grumble, but the one in the middle held up his hand, "Let her get eaten alive if that's what she wishes. The start of the rift's just over the next ridge." He looked down at Cara, "General Nox could have used a Mord-Sith on his side. Pity you won't live to see morning." And then, with a word to his horse, the man took off. The other two followed in his wake, leaving Cara standing alone in the grass. Kahlan clutched Richard's hand and struggled to breath; they had come at last to the cusp of the Great Rift.


	25. Confessor

**XXV. CONFESSOR**

When dawn came soft and golden to light the eastern sky, they climbed the last hill the soldiers had spoke of, and stood staring down into the great, gaping maw of the Underworld. The rift ran far and wide like an ugly gash, splitting open the sand dunes and the wild grassland, leading the way down into endless darkness. Green smoke wafted out of the crevice, and the morning breeze bore a stench like rotting flesh.

"Wait here," said Richard, resting his hand on her shoulder. "I don't want you getting any closer."

"Richard, wait," said Kahlan, reaching for his hand, but he'd already slipped out of her grasp, moving quickly down the hill towards the rift. "Follow him," she said desperately, looking to Cara and Zedd. "Don't let him go down there alone." She wasn't sure what she expected to happen, but she could not bear to watch him walk alone in such a place.

Cara was already following after him, but Zedd stayed beside her. She wanted to argue that there was nothing on the hilltop for her to need protecting from, but the bright sunlight was giving her a headache, and she didn't have the strength. Instead, Kahlan wandered along the hill, watching as Richard walked right up to where the ground began to crumble away like jagged, broken teeth. She rested a hand on her belly and fought the urge to call him back to her. It seemed as if he would walk right in and disappear forever; her only comfort was Cara like a leather shadow at his shoulder.

She walked a little further down the hill when her foot caught in a hole, her ankle twisting and tearing a cry from her lips. Her arms flailed as she lost her balance, Zedd grabbing her before she could fall, steadying her on her uninjured leg.

"I'm all right," said Kahlan, but when she put weight back on her ankle, pain shot through her, and her knee buckled. Zedd grasped her more firmly, lowering her down to sit on the ground.

"Easy there, dear one," he said. "I think you've turned it."

She winced and tried to grab her foot, but her belly got in the way. She surrendered with a frustrated sigh, looking up to see Richard racing towards her, having heard her cry out. "Are you all right?" he asked as he dropped to his knees before her.

"Yes," muttered Kahlan. "Zedd caught me. It's just my ankle." She felt her cheeks heat in a flush of embarrassment. It seemed she couldn't do anything right anymore. She never used to be so clumsy.

"Here, let's see," said Richard. As gently as he could, he eased her boot off, settling her swollen ankle in his lap. She bit her lip to keep from wincing at the pain. "Zedd?" he said, looking to his grandfather.

The old wizard reached out, grasping her foot in his weathered hands. He closed his eyes, and she felt the touch of his magic like a feather tickling along the bottom of her foot. "It's twisted, child," he said. "Give me a moment, and I'll have you back to rights." The current of magic grew stronger, warmer, and as it did, the throbbing pain first eased, and then disappeared. "There," he said. "How's that feel?"

"Better," said Kahlan, rotating her ankle gingerly at first, and then a bit more boldly. "Thank you."

Zedd smiled at her, cautioning her to be careful the rest of the day as her ankle would still be a bit weaker than usual. Richard rested his hand on her foot, looking concerned. "How did you twist it?" he asked.

Kahlan felt her face heat again. "There was a hole, I think." She couldn't be sure as she could no longer see where she placed her feet these days. When she looked down, all she saw was the endless swell of her belly. She reached out a hand, searching the grass absently until her fingers found a sudden dip in the ground. When she turned to peer at it, her heart skipped a beat. "Here," she said faintly.

"That's no hole," said Cara. Kahlan could only nod. Her hand rested inside a giant paw print, like a wolf's tracks, only several times larger, deep and ugly and digging into the dirt. Her hand felt suddenly cold, and she pulled it back, curling her fingers into a tight fist.

"The Keeper's hound walked here," said Richard, voicing what no one had dared to yet, though she knew they had all been thinking it since the night before. A beast of the Underworld had walked where they gathered now. A shudder ran through her, and Kahlan clutched at her belly. It felt as if the Keeper sat right beside her. Richard looked at her, their eyes locking, his dark and troubled. "I need to get you from this place."

"But now that you're here…" They had traveled so long in search of the Great Rift, and now that they'd arrived, she wasn't exactly sure what they were supposed to do. "Did you learn anything down there?" she asked, looking out at the massive rend in the land.

"We learned where the rift is," said Richard, his expression grim and giving away little. "That's enough for now, at least until we get some rest." He stood, brushing off his hands on his breeches. "We traveled straight through the night. We all need sleep."

But in the end, they walked well over an hour without finding a place to rest. The dunes flattened out into a sweeping expanse of sand, the wind occasionally picking up great clouds of grains and skittering them across the surface. Behind them in the distance, the rift loomed wide. Richard watched her as she walked, as if he doubted her ankle was truly healed. She could feel how it was still weakened from the injury, but the lingering presence of Zedd's magic made it possible for her to keep putting her weight on it, step after weary step. Exhaustion made the sand and sky start to swim before her bleary eyes, and at first she thought she was imagining things when she saw a city rise up on the horizon, golden domed and sprawling.

"Is that D'Hara?" asked Richard suddenly, and she realized she wasn't hallucinating.

"No," said Cara. "We're not far enough east to be in D'Hara."

"Then what place is it?" asked Kahlan, trying to think of the maps that filled Aydindril. All the countless kingdoms and territories she'd had to memorize during her training, names that had once rolled so easily off her tongue. Now her mind felt thick and slow; it seemed she could hold nothing straight inside her head.

"I don't know," said Richard quietly. "It seems temporary, at least in part." When she only looked at him blankly, he went on. His eyes had always been sharper than hers. "It's ringed with tents."

She thought at first it might be a military camp, and that the soldiers they'd encountered the night before might be camped there. But as they crept closer, they found there was no uniformity to the tents. They shared neither shape, nor size, nor materials. Even their arrangement lacked the slightest sense of order. Cara claimed that there was no way it could be a D'Haran camp, disordered as it was, and the people moving about between the tents were both male and female, haggard looking and dressed in rags, a far cry from soldiers.

There was a trickle of people feeding into the city, and others were rising from the tents and moving towards the gates as well. Over it all drifted the sound of voices singing a lilting, wordless song. There was something eerily familiar about the melody that traced a tingle down her spine. It seemed to call to her from some forgotten space in her memories.

"Perhaps it would be wise to turn back," said Zedd quietly, tugging her from her thoughts. "We have no way of knowing if this village is friendly."

"But if it is, we could find an inn to rest at," said Richard. "Kahlan could have a bed." He spoke so hopefully that she had to smile. She pressed a hand against the ache in her back, staring at the sea of tents surrounding the dingy, sand-streaked village. If they found an inn and stayed awhile, it was likely their child would be born there. Kahlan doubted she had more than a fortnight left until her time came. The faint sounds of women singing reached her ears again, and she shivered.

Zedd was shaking his head, the lines on his face settling into a scowl. "A warm welcome so close to the rift? And to D'Hara? I doubt it."

"Whether it's to find a place to rest, or to know what dangers we're facing doesn't matter," said Cara, tapping her Agiel impatiently against her thigh. "Either way, we need to scout the city. We should do it before we sleep."

"Cara's right," said Richard. "Wait here with her," he said to Zedd. "Cara and I will look around."

"No," cried Kahlan, snatching at his arm. The city would swallow him whole, like the rift had threatened to do. "Don't leave me behind. What if you need me to confess someone?"

He turned towards her, closing his fingers around her hand. "We'll manage," he said softly. "It'll be safer for you this way."

She shook her head, fear tightening into a knot in her gut. "I'll be safe so long as I'm with you." He hesitated, and she clutched his hand. She could feel Zedd and Cara's disapproval, but she ignored them. "Please," she whispered, trying to keep tears from filling her eyes. One escaped to trickle down her cheek. The only time she felt safe at all anymore was when she stood beside him. "Don't leave me."

He stared at her with solemn eyes and nodded once, "I could never leave you. We'll all go."

"Richard, are you sure that's wise?" began Zedd. "I don't think—"

But Richard cut him off, "We'll all go," he said again, his voice rough. He didn't meet his grandfather's eyes.

Kahlan drew her cloak and hood close around her despite the warmth of the spring day, hiding her belly and her face from view as best she could. The others slipped inside their cloaks as well, and they joined with the crowd moving towards the tents and the city beyond.

The people camped outside the city looked poor and sickly. Many wore strange talismans, others sat rocking back and forth, muttering to themselves. Kahlan tried not to look, keeping her gaze trained on the back of Richard's head as he walked before her. The air was strong with the stench of human waste and rot and too many bodies living close together.

A few small campfires burned, and people cooked meals in battered pots. Above the din, the voices of the women singing grew louder and louder, still weaving together a familiar, lilting melody that Kahlan couldn't quite place. When at last they had waded through the endless disorder of the tents, they found there was nothing to mark their passage into the village proper save for an archway of crumbling tan stone. The gate stood open and unguarded, and the crowd swept them in.

The city was coated in a layer of sand, its narrow streets as tangled and twisted as the path they'd wove through all the tents. People jostled past, bumping elbows and shoulders and setting her on edge. Here and there she spotted greasy haired men hauling carts and trays, hawking strange talismans like those she'd seen on the people outside. As they shuffled past one such merchant, Kahlan stopped and stared. There, nestled on a tray amidst a selection of dingy amulets, sat three human skulls.

Three of the smallest human skulls she had ever seen.

The merchant caught her staring and leaned closer, his black eyes glittering. "Ripped straight from their mother's bellies by some of the fiercest banelings in all the Midlands," he said with a proud, cruel smile. "Guaranteed to earn the Keeper's favor." Kahlan wanted to scream. But she felt the idle fluttering of the child in her womb, and couldn't speak. Her eyes filled with tears, and a wave of nausea swept over her, hot and dizzying. Richard leaned over her shoulder and said something to the merchant that she couldn't make out, but his tone was rough and jovial, and nothing at all like Richard. The merchant laughed, and then Richard's hand was flat against the small of her back, his voice a low warning in her ear, "Move."

It jarred her from her stupor, and she stumbled forward, wincing at the peculiar feel in her mending ankle as he hurried her away from the merchant and his collection of tiny, unborn skulls. She looked over at Richard and found his face lined with worry. "I need to get you out of here," he said. "Now." He glanced back over his shoulder, but the way was choked off by the throng, all of them pressing in towards the center of the city. Kahlan clutched the edges of her cloak tight, holding them closed around her belly, trying to let the billowing fabric hide her shape. She thought of the tiny skulls and their dead mothers, and felt as obvious as the midday sun burning brightly overhead.

"What place can this be?" she asked in an undertone.

Richard shook his head. "Feels like a wolf's den."

"And we're the fat sheep that wandered in," said Cara sharply.

"We need to turn around," said Richard, but Cara shook her head.

"If we turn around now and try to force our way back, we'll attract too much attention. Keep going, and keep your eyes open. There has to be another way out." The Mord-Sith strode ahead as the crowd carried them down the next turn, and they finally spilled into what looked to be the very center of the city, and the source of all the singing.

A platform rose above the crowd, and on it stood seven women in a circle. All were veiled, their faces obscured by flowing red. Their dress was that of Sisters of the Light, and Kahlan stared up at them, her pulse racing. These could not be the same women who'd raised her. She knew in her heart these women were the ones Sister Isobel and the prophecy had both warned her of. They had finally found the Keeper's elusive daughters, the Sisters of the Dark.

A bell clanged loudly above the city, and the singing stopped. The crowd pushed towards the platform, forcing them closer.

As the sisters turned to face the crowd, they saw they'd been gathered around a tight cluster of men and women, five altogether. Four were chained and terrified, but the fifth stood free, with a wildness in his eyes like Kahlan had never seen before.

One of the veiled sisters stepped forward, flinging her arms wide. "Here are five who live," she cried in a cold voice that carried far. An answering rumble spread through the crowd. "Five who will die for the Keeper." At that, the rumble turned into a roar. The four began to struggle against the chains that bound them, pleading for help and mercy and their lives, but the fifth stood silently waiting, grinning at the cheering crowd.

The veiled woman turned her head. "Bring out the warriors," she commanded, and Kahlan realized she spoke to a Mord-Sith waiting at the far end of the platform. The woman in red leather pivoted, marching down steps and out of sight. She returned moments later leading five men, their faces gruesome masks of rotting flesh. Banelings, all of them, each with a knife unsheathed in a ready hand.

"It's an execution," whispered Kahlan. She clutched Richard's arm, her fingers digging in to try and steady herself as she looked up at the open fear on the captives' faces. "We have to do something."

"We have to watch," said Cara in a low voice. "And cheer. Unless we wish to be hoisted up onto that platform and killed alongside them."

She looked to Richard at that, and saw only boundless sorrow in his eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but she caught the slight nod of his head. He agreed. They would have to watch these innocents die and do nothing about it. Worse than nothing for she could not even weep for them.

The sister was still speaking, but Kahlan could only hear a buzzing in her ears. Fear and dread grew inside her until she could barely breathe, and the first baneling shuffled his weary death walk to where his prisoner waited, chained and trembling, his green eyes so very wide. It seemed she spent a lifetime watching the rotting hand grasp the man's head and yank it back, exposing the pale expanse of his throat to the bright day.

The man let out a strangled wail, and then the blade flashed and his blood flowed freely down like rain to stain the wooden boards of the platform. The crowd roared and surged forward, and her stomach churned.

The next two died in quick succession, the banelings shouting triumphantly as, blood spattered yet whole again, they faced the cheering crowd. Kahlan forced a smile. It wasn't until the fourth victim fell that she felt the tingling of magic like a strong wind buffeting her back, even as the crowd tried to push her forward. She looked up at the seven sisters standing calmly among the corpses and the banelings; each of the women seemed to nearly hum with power. She realized in a flash that they were using their gift to hold the people back, and keep them from storming the platform in their frenzy.

A veiled sister came to stand at last before the fifth captive; the unchained one who waited without a fight. "You die willingly?" she asked. The mad-eyed man nodded and grinned at her, a gaping, senseless grin. He touched something that hung on a thong around his neck. Kahlan shuddered when she saw it was another infant skull. "Who do you die for?" asked the sister.

"The Keeper," cried the man, and the crowd cheered.

She nodded, trailing a long finger along the hollow of his cheek. "Your blood will help to make his army strong. May you find your reward in his dark embrace." She stepped back, and when the baneling came forward, the man greeted death with hands clasped in supplication, a look of rabid bliss upon his face. But he still fell with a red splat all the same, and then there were five dead upon the stage.

The crowd was wild now, screaming and surging towards the platform like a tidal wave. A man forced his way between her and Richard, and then another and another. Jostled by the crowd, Kahlan stumbled, her weakened ankle turning beneath her for a second time that day. She cut off her yelp of pain just as it started to escape, arms reaching wildly in an attempt to keep her balance. Her dark cloak fell open, her swollen belly suddenly, horribly obvious in her white dress.

Before she could snatch it shut, the man nearest her noticed. His fingers gripped her wrist like iron, biting into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises. The hand that held her was covered with rot, and she realized in a dull wash of horror that he was a baneling too. He grinned at her, grabbing at her belly as he spoke, "This one has the Creator's blight upon her. I will free her from it." He laughed loudly and went for his knife.

Kahlan's eyes swung to where she could hear Richard screaming her name. She could just see him trying to force his way back to her in time. He'd never reach her. Already, people were beginning to notice and bar his way. Banelings, she corrected herself with a hollow laugh inside her head, glimpsing another patch of rotting flesh. They were all banelings. Even if this one didn't kill her, the next one would. They stood alone in a city of the dead, and they were all going to die.

She released her power anyway, swifter than the baneling's blade could ever be. As her magic snapped through the air like a thousand whips all cracked in unison, the baneling crumpled into ashes, pouring through her open hand. It left her dizzy, like use of her magic hadn't in a long time, reminding her of her girlhood when her power had been weaker. Far too sluggishly, she turned around, surprised she wasn't dead yet. She was surrounded by a ring of banelings, the ashes of one of their own in a heap at her feet, and yet they all stood like statues, gaping at her. Not one moved to end her life.

Moments before, the roar of the mob had been deafening. Now there was near silence, and only one word racing like wildfire through the city.

"Confessor."


	26. Flight

**XXVI. FLIGHT**

They were surrounded. Never in her life could Kahlan remember feeling so trapped, so hopelessly lost. She stared into a ring of undead eyes, the hard, desperate faces of banelings staring back. She still carried her daggers in her boots, but she doubted she could reach them without toppling over, and her magic was still recovering from confessing the first baneling. The way she felt, a second confession so soon after the first would push her to the point of collapse.

Panic gripped her as she scanned the city, hoping desperately for a way out. She couldn't see much beyond the banelings nearest her, only the tops of more heads, the town square packed tight. Many were half-hidden in ragged cloaks, but others bared their gruesome patches of rotting flesh like trophies or badges of honor. And there was no room to move. Kahlan stood trapped in a sea of bodies, her heart pounding. All was silent; the banelings waited, watching her. Only her.

They no longer paid any heed to Richard or Zedd or Cara, or the fallen banelings at their feet. Even Richard had stopped moving and stood waiting, sword raised. She wondered what everyone was waiting for. And then she wondered why she wasn't already dead. Each breath she drew seemed to drag a thousand lifetimes. Kahlan forced herself to stand straighter, pulling the fear from her face and locking it up inside. The Mother Confessor never cowered. She raised her head to stare up at the platform full of red sisters and blood and more death, and it was then that the cold voiced sister spoke again, almost as if she'd been waiting for her, her voice slipping like ice deep inside to chill the marrow of her bones.

"So the Mother Confessor decides to come to us. How convenient." Though her face was veiled, Kahlan swore her lips curled in a cruel smile. It was odd to hear such a voice coming from a woman wearing the same dress that marked the sisters who'd raised her. It seemed horribly wrong, a mockery even, that these women wore the same clothes.

Kahlan said nothing, trying with all she had to call on the fury and power of the Con Dar. It didn't come. Even if it had, she knew in her heart it would have been little help. They had never been so unnumbered before. Her gaze flicked to Richard; he was working his way towards her through the tangle of banelings, his movements unnoticed because of the focus on her. If there was any hope of escape at all, it would come from him.

"She even brings friends with her," continued the sister with a laugh. "The Seeker of Truth himself. Or is it Lord Rahl, so close to D'Hara as we are?" she added mockingly, her gaze flitting straight to Richard. Kahlan's heart plummeted; his movements were not as unnoticed as she'd hoped. She went on, "The Keeper will be most pleased with what—" A dark blur whistled through the air and the sister stopped short, an arrow protruding from between her brows, a look of sudden shock glazed across her face.

Silence spread as her body pitched forward. Her veil fluttering in the breeze, she fell face first with a thud onto the platform, the arrow snapping beneath her. For a moment, there was absolute stillness, and then the whole city erupted in chaos. All around her, banelings were pulling weapons and whirling about, searching for whoever had fired the shot. Many began murdering their neighbors without the slightest sign of provocation. A Mord-Sith leapt up onto the platform, Agiel out, looking like a cat about to pounce, and the magic of the sisters ran like a vein through all the madness. The hairs on her arms stood on end as dacras flew through the air just above her head. Behind her, she could hear screaming and what she swore was the sound of horses' hooves, but she couldn't see.

She twisted around, hoping for a new opening of escape when an iron grip caught her arm and she was yanked forward, belly first against the foul smelling body of a baneling. He grinned at her, "Not so fast, Confessor. The Keeper has a use for you." Kahlan grit her teeth, preparing to release her restraint on her powers with a plea to the spirits that it did not drain her of her strength to the point of collapse. She felt so weak already. But before she could let loose her magic, the baneling fell in a spurt of red, and Richard at last stood before her, his sword stained every bit as red. His eyes locked with hers, and not only was there no time for words, in that moment, there was no need. The look they exchanged said more than enough.

He looped the arm not holding his sword around her, giving her his strength. "Stay close to me," he said even as he began to weave through the throng, pulling her cloak back around her to try and hide who she was. It had been months since she'd run, but she did then, her belly jostling, her twisted ankle crying out in protest with every desperate step. She could smell singed flesh burned by wizard's fire, and dacras flew wildly from the outstretched palms of countless sisters.

"What's happening?" Kahlan managed to choke out as they ran.

"D'Harans," said Richard, yanking her hard to the left and cleaving the way through a clump of banelings sword first. The blur of bodies began to make sense at his words. It was not banelings turning on their fellow banelings as it had first appeared, but D'Harans, their uniforms hidden by tattered cloaks and rags. Now and then she caught a flash of red tunics and black boiled leather beneath the cloaks, as the hard-eyed men who'd infiltrated the city alongside them killed baneling after baneling mercilessly. While the banelings were greater in number, it was clear that their skills in combat could not compare to those of trained D'Haran soldiers, and in several places, they were being overrun.

At that point, others were riding in from behind on horseback, trapping the banelings in their own village square. As Kahlan hurried along with Richard, she watched a man who'd been on foot vault effortlessly onto a riderless horse.

He was a huge man, broad shouldered and hulking, with long hair the color of straw hanging wild around his face. On his back was strapped a massive longbow, and she recognized it for the boast that it was. This man had been the one to take down the sister. As she stared, he yanked a knife from his belt and sent it hurtling with that same deadly precision to take down an advancing baneling. He threw back his head at the kill, roaring with triumph and delight. It would have been fascinating to watch if not for the knowledge that she might die at any moment, another baneling getting in close enough to rip the life from her womb and wear her daughter's skull as a talisman.

They tried to hurry past down a narrow street leading away from the square, but the man on horseback noticed them then, and turned his horse to charge right into their only path of escape.

"Lord Rahl!" he called in a rough voice. "Running away so soon, Lord Rahl?"

"Move," growled Richard through gritted teeth.

The wild haired D'Haran glowered at him. "A real D'Haran never backs down from a challenge." He spat on the ground, "I should kill you for sullying the name of D'Hara every time you draw breath."

"They why don't you?" said Richard as he readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, shifting his weight from foot to foot. She could tell he was searching for a way to get past without letting go of her to fight the man. Had he been alone, she knew he would already be past him. As it was, burdened by her, there was little he could do in the narrow passageway but stand and bargain.

"Because," said the man. "I vowed today to see every last one of the Keeper's whores dead. You will die another day, Richard Rahl." With that, he wheeled his horse around and charged back into the fray, leaving the path before them clear once more. Kahlan could feel the tension that had poured into Richard at the other man's words, but he wasted no breath on it. Taking a tighter hold of her, he led her on through the twisting city.

"What about Cara? And Zedd?" she gasped, trying to turn and look back over her shoulder for some sign that they followed. The whole world was a jumble, and she could not find them.

"Don't worry," he said as he urged her on, half carrying her over fallen bodies. "Zedd and Cara can take care of themselves. They'll follow." He slowed his pace only slightly and began scanning the city. "Horses," he said. "We need horses."

Through the madness and the clanging of steel on steel, the air sizzling with magic, they ran and ran until she thought she would drop and die there in the dust. And then they ran some more. Suddenly, Richard gave a shout and let go of her, vaulting swiftly over an overturned cart. His sword in his hand dripped blood, and he used it to cut free three frightened, tethered horses. Kahlan hurried to his side and leaned against him the briefest of moments, not even enough to catch her breath, and somehow, in that fleeting rest, caught sight of Zedd and Cara racing towards them.

Richard leapt up onto the horse, just as Zedd paused to send a rolling ball of Wizard's Fire into a cluster of banelings following after them. Cara was little more than a red blur, reaching them in time to grab Kahlan's legs as Richard leaned over in the saddle, taking hold beneath her arms.

Together, they helped her up so she sat sideways on the horse across Richard's lap. It was precarious at best, her belly making it impossible for her to sit pressed close against him. But they both knew without saying that it was the only way for her to ride a horse fast enough to escape the destruction that filled the city. Richard wrapped a strong arm around her, taking up the reins in his other, and before she had a chance to even draw breath, they were off. He urged the horse into a gallop, and they sped down the narrow street.

She could see little with the side of her face pressed against Richard's chest. The air was thick with dust and the shouts of dying men. It all flew past, the horse's hooves thundering beneath her as they fled the city, rattling her swollen body.


	27. Alone

**XXVII. ALONE**

Kahlan slept on the floor of a cave, her cloak spread like a blanket over her, and Richard's bunched like a pillow beneath her head. Though she slept peacefully, it did nothing to hide her exhaustion. Dark shadows lurked beneath her eyes, chastising him. Richard let his head fall forward to rest against his knees, tears like pinpricks at the corners of his eyes. He could not bear how close he'd come to losing her, to watching her death at the hands of banelings and Sisters of the Dark.

He'd pushed her hard in the escape, but there had been no other choice. Slowing down would have meant capture and death. They'd rode hard and long as they fled the city until they reached a rocky region, pockmarked with cliffs and caves, and had sought shelter there among the stones. The moment he'd helped Kahlan down from the horse, she'd staggered forward a step, only to collapse unconscious in his arms. The sight had been enough to stop his heart.

Zedd had hovered over her; his hands pressed against her womb, and had said in a quiet voice that her child still thrived inside her. He blamed exhaustion and mumbled words in an ancient tongue that had set the very air to tingling. A moment later, she'd opened her eyes and murmured Richard's name. Struggling not to weep, he'd lifted her up and carried her into the cave, urging her to sleep. It hadn't taken much coaxing; her eyes slipped shut again almost instantly. Richard turned his back on the others, taking up Kahlan's hand to hold as she slept.

Zedd and Cara went outside to comb the surrounding area for any magical traps placed by the sisters, and Richard sat alone with her a long time. He shivered in the dark of the cave, more from misery than cold, and leaned closer to Kahlan, brushing a stray strand of hair back from her face. His heart felt heavy in his chest; he never should have brought her to such a place. She could have died in that city, and there would have been no one to blame but himself. He alone had decided to abandon the compass. Had it not been for his words, Kahlan would never have tossed it into the fire, and he wouldn't now be leading them blindly into danger and death without the slightest idea of how to find the stone. How to keep her safe. He had never felt less worthy of the sword at his side than he did now.

He started at the sudden sound of footsteps and turned his head to see Cara making her way into the cave, trailing a leather gloved hand along the rough rock wall for guidance.

"We didn't find anything," she said in answer to his unspoken question. Richard nodded. That, at least, was good news. He hated to think of moving Kahlan again so soon. Cara squatted down beside him, her leather creaking. "The wizard's casting a web around the cave now. He says it will alert him immediately if anyone approaches."

Richard nodded a second time, but said nothing. He didn't know what there was to say after a day like today. Cara cleared her throat, "Lucky the D'Harans were there." There was something strange about her voice, an echo of something hopeful and beseeching, like a child fishing for a compliment. "We're fighting the same enemy as them," she added, and he nearly choked when he realized she wanted him to praise D'Hara.

He scowled, thinking of everything D'Hara meant to him. Ruthless cruelty and destruction. The shame of sharing blood with Darken Rahl.

"They would make a powerful ally," she said.

"An ally without honor," spat Richard, something dark and nasty welling up inside him.

Cara kicked at the ground with the toe of her boot, dislodging bits of gravel. "It's not such a bad thing to be D'Haran. It is the best thing, unless you are Mord-Sith. That is better." She started quietly, but her voice soon turned boastful. Usually he found it amusing; now it only irritated him.

"There's nothing good in a Mord-Sith either," he said, letting his bitter mood choose his words for him. "I thank the spirits at least my daughter will never be one."

Cara stiffened, her face blank. She sat very still, saying nothing, and then she stood. "I'm going hunting," she announced without looking his way. "Kahlan will need food when she wakes." Richard watched her go, a crush of depression settling over him; he had succeeded in hurting her feelings for no reason at all.

He sat in unhappy silence a long while, his only solace the steady sound of Kahlan's breathing. The cave was descending further into blackness as night approached, wrapping him in near total darkness by the time that soft, shuffling footsteps marked Zedd's approach. Richard clenched the hilt of his sword and stared straight ahead as his grandfather came and sat beside him. The air felt thick with unsaid things, and the magic of the sword began to crawl over his skin, twisting the heavy silence into something every bit as sharp as the blade.

Zedd drew a long, rattling breath. "It's good that she sleeps," he said. "She doesn't get enough rest. I fear this journey has gotten too hard for her."

"I know," said Richard through gritted teeth. He wondered if Zedd thought him blind. He knew that for every time Kahlan admitted to feeling tired or sore or weak, there were a hundred times that day when she'd felt just as weary and said nothing at all. It broke his heart all over again every time he saw her stumble.

"She should never have been in that city today," continued Zedd. Richard tightened his grip on the sword, a hot surge of anger racing through him. He knew that too. He'd almost gotten her killed. His grandfather laid a hand on his arm. "She's not thinking rationally anymore," he said quietly. "She wants only to be next to you. It's time for you to be the strong one, Richard."

"What would you have me do?" he demanded. It was a sign of just how exhausted Kahlan was that she did not so much as stir at his raised voice. "When she looks at me with tears in her eyes and begs me not to leave her? You would have me send her away? I can refuse her nothing. Not after what I have done to her."

Zedd gave a heavy sigh, "Surely you and her are past that day now?"

Richard stared at his grandfather's shadowy face. He no longer hated himself with every breath he took, but he would never forget that day. When he said nothing, Zedd went on, "You were not yourself, my boy."

"No," snapped Richard, the magic of the sword pushing him to his feet. Long suppressed anger at his grandfather came bubbling to the surface. "I was Annabelle's puppet. And yours."

"Yes," agreed Zedd quietly, his voice too close in the darkness. "You were. And I am so sorry for what you have endured, what both of you have endured, but you have at least both grown stronger for it."

Richard clung to his sword. He hadn't expected Zedd to agree with him and apologize, and something deep inside him wanted to forgive, but the flood of anger from the sword washed over him, carrying the impulse away.

"No," he said in a rough, low voice. "There is no strength to come from what I did. Only something broken. You have seen to it that I will have memories to haunt me the rest of my life, and into the Underworld beyond it."

"Don't let yourself be so tormented, my boy. Kahlan still loves you. Take your solace from that and grow stronger. We must move on. Something must be done now that the Sisters of the Dark know she is here."

"What?" said Richard with a growl. He lowered his voice to a heated whisper, hissing into the blackness like a snake, the sword's rage singing in his veins. "She is hunted and she cannot flee. I will not send her away to be guarded by strangers. I will keep her alive myself or die trying."

"And what of the stone?" pressed Zedd, his tone beginning to harden. "How will you find it when you cannot leave her side? She will have no peace until you do."

"I'll find it!"

"How?" pressed Zedd. "Put aside your sulking, and act like the Seeker I know you are. She will give birth before many more days pass, and when she does, I fear the prophecy will be fulfilled whether we are ready for it or not."

"I don't believe in prophecy," snapped Richard. He felt as if he bore a mountain on each shoulder, and was slowly dying under all the weight pressing him down. His grandfather would not stop talking.

"And when your belief alone is not enough to save her? Then what? You have brought her here into the very nest of those who would kill her, with no plan for her safety or the stone. I am asking you, Seeker, what will you do?"

Richard stared into the darkness of the cave, at the blackness and the shadowy shape of Zedd looming tall and full of judgment. Kahlan slept on, and his blood burned hot. He had no answer. He imagined the world ending in a flash of the Keeper's fire, and he the only soul to blame. The fury of the sword melded with his grief, and the pain of the magic in his veins was like it hadn't been in months. He staggered forward to keep from dropping to his knees.

Zedd had no faith in him, and yet Zedd had been the one to name him Seeker. The one to lay the whole of this burden upon him. The magic of the sword surged stronger, and he remembered the thought he'd had once of killing Zedd, cleaving him clean in half. It caused the sword to tingle, and the blade to glow like a warning in his hand. The faint light was ominous, illuminating the huddled form of Kahlan still sleeping on the ground, and the troubled lines of his grandfather's face. Richard leaned against the wall of anger, breathing hard.

"Richard, my boy," said Zedd, his voice gentling some with concern.

Richard shook his head. He had no words that could make it past the grief and rage that choked him. Blindly he turned away to stumble towards the open mouth of the cave.

"Richard," called Zedd again. "Where are you going?" He started to follow after.

"Stay and guard her, Zedd," he said. Kahlan was the only thing that could make it past the sword. "She can't be left alone."

Zedd stopped at that, and he knew his grandfather would not follow. Not when Kahlan slept defenseless and heavy with child.

He mumbled a plea to the spirits that they would keep her safe, and then he stepped out into the open air. Richard started walking like he had all those long nights as a woods' guide, with only starlight to guide him. His sword burned heavy in his hand, and every footstep fell like doom. He had no doubt about his path. He would go down alone into the waiting darkness of the rift.


	28. Battered

**XXVIII. BATTERED**

Richard walked the whole way there with his hand on his sword, dragging the blade through the sands behind him. He had not slept in nearly two days, but he no longer felt the effects of exhaustion. The sword's magic pounding in his ears cast the night in red, and he was aware of nothing save the ground before his feet. There was no stopping his relentless march down to the Great Rift. The dark night seemed to call to him, the ground splitting open like a crooked smile to greet him. As the crack in the earth widened further, green smoke and hot, acrid smelling fumes poured out of the depths, whipping his hair back and making him cough.

When there was nowhere left to go but down into the rift itself, Richard stopped a moment on a rocky precipice, dangling there above the abyss. He stood on the edge of something unspeakably foul, while overhead the stars remained oblivious, twinkling as bright as always.

He raised his sword in warning, though to what, he did not know. All was silent as the grave. Fury flowed like his own lifeblood through his veins; it twisted and became a knot in his chest. He wondered how he'd ever pay the price for all the harm he'd brought to Kahlan. And for all the harm he'd bring on the world if the chasm before him could not be shut. Even his life would not be enough. He wanted to cast himself into the rift and forget; instead he raised his voice along with his sword.

"Darken Rahl!" he said, taking an unsteady step towards the edge of the precipice. Bits of gravel crumbled beneath his boots and rolled away into oblivion. The sword set his blood to burning, and he knew not where his words came from. It seemed that the sword spoke for him there at the door to the dead. "Brother!" he roared. "Come fight me!"

The wind blew his voice back at him and gave no answer. For a long time he stood waiting, his ears straining for some sign that he'd been heard. Still there was only silence. Defeat began to creep in around the edges, and Richard turned away. He scanned the rough, shadowy ridges for some other way down into the rift with weary resignation. Though he still gripped the sword, it felt like the dead weight of despair.

He heard the screeling before he saw it.

Halfway to another ledge, Richard froze. The magic of the sword came pouring back into him with a force that nearly left him unconscious. An awful cackle filled the air, and though his back was turned, he saw the screeling behind him as if it appeared inside his mind, skittering out of the depths below like an overgrown insect. The Sword of Truth had never been enough to kill a screeling before, not without Zedd's magic to aid him, but he welcomed the creature all the same. It was something to turn the blistering wrath of the sword on besides himself.

He turned to where he knew it would emerge, his thoughts dissolving into the pulsing, living magic of the sword. With a single sweep, he knocked the screeling's head from its body as it leapt out of the rift in a flurry of gnashing teeth and claws and bitter, blackened skin.

The head thudded to the ground and rolled to a halt, leaving a trail of blood across the stone. Richard stood staring, his breath coming in gasps, his jaw gaping open. His sword alone had been enough. A second screeling crawled from the rift, and he buried his astonishment and attacked. As he hacked off a limb, his blade caught the glow of the Underworld, silver mirroring green.

Richard stopped counting screelings after the first dozen when they began to come two and three at a time, and then in great waves of six and seven. Harsh cackling filled the air, surrounding him. He might have felt fear and faltered then, were it not for the magic of the sword leaving him with nothing but the overwhelming need to kill. All the anger he had carried round for months was there, at last coalescing into something every bit as sharp and purposeful as the sword itself. It took him to a place far beyond himself, where the sword told him where to place his feet, when to cut, to thrust, even the right moment in which to breathe. Fury became strength. Sweat dripped from his hair and burned in his eyes, and he welcomed even the twinge of irritation he felt at that, funneling it straight into the sword to fuel the magic. He pulled more and more from the sword until the ground was littered with the heads and limbs of screelings hacked to bits, and a silence stretched in which no more came.

He waited then, breathing hard, staring down into the broken earth. A low, primal rumble issued forth from the Great Rift, and he closed his eyes, turning all his thoughts to the sword in his grasp. He knew now that it was not for screelings that he'd come, but for this.

The foul wind picked up and the rumble grew into a roar. Richard opened his eyes to a dark shape looming before him, twice the size of a man. It was covered in thick, mangy fur. Black lips pulled back in a slow slide over fangs the equal of his arm, and sharp cunning shone in its golden eyes.

This was the creature from the black book of Ashkari. The one they'd called the Ripper. He stood alone, facing the Keeper's hound.

The hound sniffed the air, a rumble like an avalanche building in its throat. And then it leapt.

Richard swung the sword around to meet claws like iron, and his body reverberated with the force of the blow. Rancid breath enveloped him, the hound's spittle in his face. Fear was in his heart, and he gripped the sword hard enough to open blisters the length of his palm.

Richard dropped to the ground as the hound lunged for him, rolling away just in time as claws raked the wounded earth where his heart had been. The incline of the ground beneath his feet as he rose was far too steep – the beast was trying to force him backwards into the rift.

The hound came at him again, and he only just blocked the blow. He managed near misses again and again as he swiftly lost ground. Green fumes enveloped him, and the rocks began to break away beneath his feet. He listened to the sound of falling gravel, staring up into the amber eyes of the beast. If he backed up another step, it would be too far. He would fall.

Richard clenched the sword, struggling to pull even more fury from it, trying to reclaim the strength that had helped him fight the screelings. It wasn't enough. The hound met him with a snarl, moving closer slowly like a cat toying with a mouse. Richard's mind raced, filling with thoughts of Kahlan, and a fresh wave of fury hit him. This was the monster that would kill her and their unborn child. This was the Keeper's servant.

He let the knowledge enrage him, magic pouring through his veins until the sword held him at the brink of sanity, and he snarled back at the beast. With an angry shout, he swung the sword, regaining the ground he'd lost as he fought his way back up into the world. It began in earnest then, a deadly dance along the edge of the rift, teeth and claws against steel, parrying blow after blow.

He had no sense of how long it lasted. He didn't have the luxury of such thoughts. He knew only anger at the threat before him, at the danger to Kahlan and their daughter. The sword took care of the rest.

And so Richard fought on into the night, trading each slash the Sword of Truth managed to make in the hound's flesh for a cut of his own. Blood stained his hands and mixed with the sweat that stung his eyes, leaving him half blind and furious. He thrust all his weight forward in a lunge that should have skewered the hound, only to miss when it leapt easily out of the way, batting him to the ground with a massive paw.

The force of the blow crushed the breath from his body, and Richard stared stunned at the stars for a moment too long. In the next, they were eclipsed by the body of the beast looming over him. Hot, fetid breath bathed his face, and the smell of death clung closer than his own skin. A huge paw pinned his arm to the ground, and the night of fighting caught up with him; he could not lift his sword.

He was going to die, he thought, and the only sorrow he felt was at the memory of Kahlan's face. He saw her in his mind, sweeter than the moonlight and five times more beautiful than anyone had a right to be, and then claws tore at the flesh of his shoulder, shredding skin. He writhed and cried out, his fingers grappling with the hilt of his sword as pain flared through him like wildfire. With the last of his strength, he wrenched his arm free and thrust his blade up, burying it in the hound's exposed belly before the teeth could come gnashing down. Warm blood rained on him as the hound threw back its mangy head, a howl of agony ripped from its throat.

Richard rolled out of the way of the bulk of the beast, twisting his sword as he forced it deeper into the gaping wound. He staggered to his feet and pulled the sword free with his good arm. "I have a message for your master," he said as the golden eyes began to dim. "You'll see him soon enough. Tell him he will never have her." He stood there shaking, and watched the hound die.

Bloody and battered, Richard turned his back on the rift. It was done. He doubted he had the strength to walk even halfway back to the cave where Kahlan slept, but at least it was done. The Keeper's hound was no more. He shoved the mess of bloody, matted hair back off his brow, squinting bleary eyed into the darkness. The magic of the sword refused to settle. It burned like a warning in his skin; someone still watched him.

As his eyes adjusted to seeing other than the hound, he realized nearly one hundred men stood in silent rows before him. By their leather and blades he knew them. D'Harans. All of them.


	29. D'Hara

**XXIX. D'HARA**

Without thought, Richard raised the sword though his torn shoulder ached to do it. He did not have the strength to fight such a sea of enemies. Not after the hound. But the hundred men before him all dropped to their knees, and the words he'd heard spoken the day he learned the truth of his birth rang out once more to fill the night.

_Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours._

Still holding the sword in warning, Richard took a step closer. "What is the meaning of this?"

A man at the front rose to his feet. As he moved into the moonlight, Richard recognized him by his hulking form and his long, wild strands of matted blonde hair as the D'Haran who'd shot down the Sister of the Dark that morning.

"My scouts saw you passing in the night," he said in a low, gruff voice. "We followed you, my lord, thinking to kill you for impersonating the Lord Rahl and bringing shame to D'Hara." He nodded his head towards the bodies littering the rift. "That is no longer our wish."

Richard drew a weary breath. His torn shoulder felt on fire. "And what is your wish?"

"To serve you," said the man. "Or die by your hand for plotting your death."

"All of you? This is what all of you wish?"

Fists clamped to hearts, and a thundering chorus of "Yes, Lord Rahl," filled the night.

Richard stared at them, stunned. He wished he had Cara with him. She would know better what to say to such men. He kept his sword out, kept the blade angry; it would be his only chance if this proved to be some impossible trick. "You were ready to kill me this very night. Now you're certain I am your Lord Rahl. Why?"

The towering, blonde giant gestured at the body of the slain hound. "You single-handedly destroyed the horrors of the Underworld. A lesser man than Lord Rahl could not have done this. Many of my best men have tried and lost their lives in the attempt."

Richard frowned. "It was the sword's magic."

"Lord Rahl's sword."

"The Seeker's," he countered.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Do you deny that you are Richard Rahl, son of Panis Rahl, rightful Lord and Master of D'Hara?"

Yes, a part of him still wanted to scream. Yes, he denied it. He was Richard Cypher. Darken Rahl was no brother to him. But he remembered the words he had called down into the rift, and in the dark of the night, he found his voice. "I am Lord Rahl."

The man shrugged. "Then it is nothing to us that you also have other titles. Only a further sign of your greatness."

Richard shifted from foot to foot, glad the darkness hid the way his ears burned red at the flattery. The man spoke with a vehemence that left no doubt of his sincerity, despite the fact that he would have gladly killed him that morning. He stared out at the grim men assembled before him, fresh fear seizing his heart, "You came out here tonight intending to kill me," said Richard. "Have any of you gone after my friends?"

"No," said the man. "I've ordered no one after your companions." His expression darkened. "D'Harans aren't the ones in the habit of slaying women when they're with child."

Richard breathed a sigh of relief that Kahlan at least was unharmed. His torn shoulder was beginning to throb, and his head felt too light, as if he might faint. He forced himself to keep standing and beckoned the tall man closer. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Nox," said the man. "General Ben Nox, sir."

He nodded. "And why were you and your men at that baneling city today?"

Nox pushed back his matted blonde hair. "To kill witches," he said and spat on the ground. When Richard only nodded again, the general seemed to take it as a sign to go on. "Those witches moved onto our land right after D'Hara fell. The Mord-Sith all supported them, said they were working for our master, that Darken Rahl still sent word. Some of the men joined them. I didn't. Never thought much of Darken Rahl's ways, though I followed his orders and stayed alive because of it. But I don't take orders from dead men."

He gestured towards the soldiers behind him. "My men stuck with me, and we left the sisters alone, and they left us alone. It worked for awhile. But then the banelings started to come. People started to die, more and more, they died. Our women weren't safe. They acted like monsters, stabbing mothers in their bellies with their babes still growing there. Us that were left began to fight back, but we were scattered. Leaderless. Didn't take a real smart man to see we didn't stand a chance the way we were. Someone had to do it, so I started organizing the men. We've been fighting back ever since. Raiding their villages, doing what we can. We'll do better now with Lord Rahl on our side. Never seen a man who can fight like you just did there."

Richard managed a weary smile. Nox reminded him in a strange way of a gentler Cara, though he supposed perhaps that wasn't so strange at all. It was disorienting, so many men, so long his enemies, now suddenly sworn to serve him. But his instinct said they were good men, and he was outnumbered a hundred to one. He had no choice but to trust them.

He took a step forward and staggered, the pain in his shoulder burning back into his awareness. He glanced down at his blood soaked shirt, the ribbons of flesh and fabric where the hound's claws had dug in. The sight and the punch of pain made him sway.

"Come on, Lord Rahl," said Nox. "Best we look at your shoulder. Then we'll escort you back to the caves at Hadarn Rock."

"Hadarn Rock?"

"Where your companions are," said Nox.

Richard stopped short. "You know where we dwell?"

Nox beamed with pride. "My scouts are excellent." He spread his huge arms wide. "This is D'Hara. Not a grain of sand sits here that we do not know."

**xxx**

It was a long walk back to Hadarn Rock, and Richard's men half carried him there, one arm slung over Nox, and the other over a bald and red faced man named Gurt. Richard said little. The pain in his shoulder was worse when he moved, and most of his effort was spent on not blacking out.

At last the cliffs and caves of Hadarn Rock appeared before them; hulking, darker shapes outlined against a dark night. Before they had gone far up the rocky slope, they were greeted by an alarmed Cara and Zedd running out of a cave. Cara came with her Agiels in hand; Zedd with arms outstretched, ready to let loose a blast of wizard's fire.

"Wait," called Richard. "Cara, Zedd, it's me! They're friends." They slowed to a halt, cautious looks upon their faces.

"Richard?" He head Kahlan's voice cry out, and then she too appeared in the mouth of the cave. "Richard!" She hurried straight towards him, brushing Zedd aside when he reached for her. Her pace was far less than a run, but he knew how hard it was for her to move even as fast as she did. She alone paid no attention to the army behind him, but scrambled down the rocks and straight into his arms.

"Richard," she wept as she flung her arms around him, her belly smashed close against his stomach. "Oh thank the spirits." Tears ran down her cheeks. "I was so worried. I feared you were dead."

"You nearly sent her into labor," said Cara, "when she awoke and found you gone."

Richard gathered up Kahlan's face in his hands. "I will always come for you," he promised. "Always."

She nodded, blinking through her tears. Her gaze left his face, drifting to his wounded shoulder. She plucked at the hasty bandage one of the soldiers had fashioned for him. "You're bleeding," she gasped. "What's happened? Where have you been?"

"And what are you doing with half of D'Hara?" added Cara, her hands on her hips.

Richard glanced at her over the top of Kahlan's head. "Half of D'Hara wants to help," he said. "A very wise Mord-Sith once told me that we're on the same side." A little half-smile flickered at the corner of Cara's mouth and she turned away.

"My men and I have sworn allegiance to Lord Rahl," said Nox.

Cara raised an eyebrow, looking over at the general with something surprisingly close to admiration. "I did so long before you," she said.

Zedd had made his way down to them by that time, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Richard's shoulder. He peeled off the bandage and shook his head. "It's a wonder you're still standing. You need to let me heal that right away, my boy. It's quite deep. I don't want to risk infection. Come inside the cave and take off your shirt, and I'll get to work."

"Richard," said Kahlan, still staring at the wound with wide eyes. "Those look like claw marks. What in the name of the spirits…"

"Lord Rahl killed the beast in the rift," said Gurt. "Slew it single-handedly. And near three hundred screelings too."

"It was the sword!" said Richard. "And it wasn't three hundred—"

"Lord Rahl slew it with Lord Rahl's sword," amended Gurt. "He has magic in it."

Richard nodded vaguely at that. He didn't know how to begin to describe the fluid rage that had commanded him in battle. Now that it was done, he felt calmer than he had in months. More at peace. He looped an arm around Kahlan and drew her close. "How do you feel?" he asked quietly, remembering how pale she'd been when she collapsed. "You look better."

"I feel better," said Kahlan. "At least, now that you're here."

Nox accompanied them inside the cave, while Gurt led the men in setting up a guard around the perimeter. Zedd healed the wound easily enough, though he still felt a bit lightheaded from the blood loss, but Kahlan couldn't stop hovering. She sat right beside him, nearly in his lap, rubbing a sweet-smelling salve into the new, pink skin of his shoulder. Her lips were pursed, an intense look of concentration on her beautiful face.

The others listened as he recounted what had happened, Nox chiming in to add unnecessary embellishments about just how surely he'd swung his sword. When the story was told, Richard leaned back against the rough wall of the cave, Kahlan nestled at his side. He looked up at the faces of his friend. "The hound is no more," he said. "I can explore the length of the rift much more easily now." The spells he'd learned in the black book of Ashkari churned in his mind, all incantations and Fatal Graces. Perhaps he could use some of them now to gain knowledge of the stone.

"So that is your plan now?" said Zedd, quiet skepticism in his voice. "We patrol the rift?"

"No," said Richard. "Not yet. Kahlan is to have our child very soon." He sighed and looked up into the sad eyes of his grandfather. "I owe you an apology, Zedd. You were only trying to get me to see reason."

"There's no need for an apology. I'm just glad to have my grandson back in one piece."

"No, you were right," insisted Richard. "When our daughter is born, she and Kahlan will need to be somewhere safe. They will need protecting, a place to grow strong before they are ready to travel again." He turned towards the wild looking man on whom he was suddenly pinning all his dearest hopes. "Is there any such place left in this forsaken land where I can take her?"

Nox nodded his large, blonde head. "Isham is no more than two days ride to the east, Lord Rahl. It used to be a fort on the western border of D'Hara, but it's become our city and stronghold. All who live there follow my word. They will serve and shelter you gladly."

"I cannot thank you enough," said Richard. "I'll also need help searching for the stone, if your men will give it."

"They're your men, Lord Rahl. And they all will, gladly. We've been fighting a war without end. You will have many hands eager to help you." Nox got to his feet, and stood hunched over to keep his head from hitting the low walls of the cave. "I'll send word through my scouts for news of anything that might be of aid. Shall I ready them? Then we'll see you safely to Isham – these are dangerous lands."

"Yes," said Richard and began to rise as well. "We should get going.

"Not just yet," said Zedd. "That shoulder needs a few hours rest if my work is not to come undone." Richard started to protest, but Zedd held up his hand. "We could all use some rest." His gaze flicked briefly towards Kahlan, his voice heavy with unsaid meaning. "It's been a night of little sleep."

"Very well," relented Richard, turning back to Nox. "Set up a guard, but let the others rest. We leave at first light."

Nox clamped his fist to his heart. "It will be as you say, Lord Rahl."

Zedd pushed himself to his feet. "And I need to check my webs. Many may need resetting now that an army's passed through them. Try and get some sleep, my boy."

As they filed out, Cara lingered. She stood scuffing the toe of her boot back and forth, an uneasy look on her face. "What is it, Cara?" asked Richard.

She stared down at the floor of the cave. "When I returned from hunting and you were gone, I intended to set out to find you. I should have left immediately, but I delayed." She hesitated, looking almost lost. "I don't know why. I let harm come to you. If you want one of the soldiers to replace me as your protector, I'll understand. I'd recommend General Nox. He is an able bodied man."

"Cara, I don't want to replace you."

She looked up in surprise, "But I failed you."

"You didn't fail me." He winced inwardly at the memory of his harsh words to her earlier that night. "It's I who owe you an apology. I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry. I understand why you delayed. I want you as my protector. And my friend."

"Mord-Sith don't have feelings," said Cara, but a faint smile crossed her face, and she seemed to stand a little taller. "I'm going to make sure General Nox's guard assignments are adequate."

Richard smiled back, "Thank you, Cara." He watched her go, and then turned to Kahlan, the two of them alone at last.

"What did I miss while I slept?" she asked, her eyes wide.

His cheeks burned red. "I was in a foul mood," he admitted. "You'd be ashamed if you heard all I said."

"I could never be ashamed of you." She paused and then added, "Lord Rahl." It was the first time she'd called him by that name.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to take the title," he said, feeling rather like a boy caught with a stolen pie.

"It's yours by right. You would not have me deny my title, would you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then don't deny yours." Her hand lingered on his chest, fingers idly rubbing at his newly repaired flesh. "I know how it feels to bear the weight of a title you do not necessarily want, but your shoulders are strong enough for the task. And General Nox is a good man. Every word he speaks is true. You can do a lot of good for these people, and they for you."

He nodded. When Kahlan said it, he could almost imagine it to be true. She shifted abruptly, struggling to reach behind her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"My back hurts today," she said. She winced and braced a hand against her lower back.

"Here," said Richard, getting up on his knees to crawl behind her. "Let me rub it for you."

She exhaled loudly and nodded her head. "Oh, it aches," she said, hissing in another breath as he began to knead her lower back. "I feel like I'm about to burst with this child."

"She'll come soon," he said.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," he said as he rubbed his way down her spine. "I've been making you do too much. I know how tired you are."

She gasped in another breath, moaning softly. "Harder," she said. "It still aches." He complied, and she went on. "I wouldn't have done it differently. I need you near me." She paused, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, "Will you stay long in Isham?" She leaned further forward, whimpering as he worked at her back.

"Until she's born," said Richard. "And then as long after as you need."

"But what of the stone? And the rift?"

"I'll spend all my life trying to seal the rift, if that's what it takes. But I don't know where to turn, Kahlan. I don't know what to do next." His hands stilled against her lower back. "All I can do is what I judge to be right, and if I don't try to keep the mother of my child safe, how can I claim to be on the side of the Creator? I've already put you in danger too many times. I will look for a way to close the rift for as long as I must, but I cannot begin until you and our daughter are safe."

Kahlan nodded, turning suddenly in his lap to rest her head against his chest. Tears spilled from her eyes to wet his skin. She clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you." It was not until that moment that he realized just how scared she'd been. He held her closer.


	30. Peril

_Finally a new chapter! I'm sorry! I'm on LJ a lot more than here, and I keep forgetting to add new chapters here as well. Enjoy!_

**XXX. PERIL**

It happened fast. One moment, they were riding under the thick heat of the midday sun, all quiet save for the sounds of the horses and a hundred men marching. And then in the next, banelings came swarming in on all sides. It seemed to Kahlan that they rose up out of the very ground, as sudden as a sandstorm. The calm, unending day turned violent in an instant, and all around her exploded into chaos. A D'Haran soldier, whose name she did not even know, grabbed her horse's bridle, just in time to keep it from rearing and throwing her.

Immediately, twelve of the men formed a ring around her, bristling steel to keep her safe. It roped her off from the mad screams and the clash of steel on steel, but Kahlan twisted and turned in the saddle, trying to see through to the turmoil for any sign of Richard. He'd rode at her side all day, but had ridden back just before the attack to speak to the men at the rear.

Nox was in the ring of soldiers guarding her, and when the baneling attacking him fell dead, she urged her horse towards him. "General!" she called. "Where's Richard? You have to find him."

Nox looked up, deep blue eyes glinting in the light. Already he was streaked with blood and sweat. "Can't do that, Mother Confessor," he said. "Lord Rahl has ordered me to stay by your side. We're all to fall before harm comes to you."

He turned away abruptly to block another blow, and Kahlan was left alone in the silent eye of the storm. Her horse tossed its head, and she gentled a hand down its neck, soothing it absently as she searched for Richard.

She spotted him at last, fighting his way through a cluster of banelings. The moment he laid eyes on her, she could see the relief cross his face. He kept an eye on her at all times while he fought, though he was still struggling to cut a path through the bodies. And so it was that he was looking left to her when he should have been looking right, and a baneling's blade came around to bite into his side. Kahlan screamed as she watched him crumple and grab at the wound, only to force himself to his feet in the next moment, spearing the baneling through the heart. Blood spilled red around his fingers, and he kept a tight grip on the wound.

No one came to his aid. All the men were blocked by banelings, save for the twelve who guarded her. "Go to him," she screamed at the soldiers, tears streaking down her face. She turned her horse in wild circles, taking in the twelve men in their boiled leather, swords clenched in meaty fists, axes and maces strapped to their backs in abundance. They were the biggest, the strongest, the very best. The ones Richard needed with him most.

"Go to him, please," she wept as she watched Richard let go of the wound to fight yet another baneling, his shirt now soaked in blood. The soldiers ringing her remained impassive. One stepped into the circle and took the reins from her, as if he expected she might try to bolt. And so Kahlan swung her leg over the saddle instead, her belly almost toppling her in the process. With a prayer to the spirits that her feet would find the ground, she let herself fall. The same soldier caught her, but she tore from his arms and ran. She could not even see Richard now, and the uncertainty made her sick with grief. Her feet floundered in the sand, and then it was Nox who wrapped a massive arm around her just as she reached the edge of the circle.

His voice was low and rough at her ear, "Do not run for him, Mother Confessor, or you will lay waste to his heart." He thrust her back behind him into the circle where she could not even see his face, and fear and pain brought her to her knees. Her hands clutched at her belly, and she wept as steel clashed all around her. It seemed forever before the world at last fell silent, and the circle around her began to spread. Kahlan staggered to her feet again, heart beating wildly, to survey the dead. Only two of their own had been lost, though all the banelings now lay dead, and Richard was not counted among them. He still stood and walked towards her, a grimace on his face and a hand to his wound. Zedd and Cara came running up just as he reached her.

"Kahlan, breathe," he said in a calm, quiet voice though he was the one who was injured. "You need to breathe." She gasped in a breath, shaking her head as fresh tears spilled from her eyes.

"You, you almost died," she choked out, but Richard only shushed her. He lifted his hand from the wound.

"It glanced off my ribs, that's all. It's not very deep. Look, it's hardly bleeding anymore." But she couldn't stop staring at the blood on his shirt and his hands. "It's my own fault anyway," he said, wincing as he clamped his fingers back over the wound. Even though he was trying his best not to show it, she could tell it pained him a great deal. "I let myself get distracted."

By her. Kahlan swallowed the lump in her throat. He'd been distracted by her. "They wouldn't go to you," she hissed, still furious at the grim-faced wall of men that had kept her back.

Richard nodded. "I know. I saw. I told them to guard you at all costs if we were attacked on the way to Isham." He looked over at Nox. "You did everything right," he told the general. "Thank you for keeping her safe."

"But you could've died!" she cried, wild, angry-sounding sobs forcing their way up from her lungs.

"Better I pay that price than you," said Richard. His voice was solemn and hard, cutting straight to her bones.

No, she wanted to shriek. No, it was not better at all. But she at last took notice of how the men all stared at her. She sucked in another rattling breath, her shoulders shaking. She tried to compose herself so they wouldn't wonder why their new Lord Rahl had chosen such a weak, sniveling woman. It was no use; her eyes still leaked tears.

"Kahlan," said Richard. He drew closer, shielding her from the soldiers. "I'm well, do you hear me? I will live. Zedd will heal this, and I'll be all in one piece again. I need you to calm down, okay? For her?" His hands dropped to rest on her belly, fingers leaving bloodstains on the white fabric of her dress. "She needs her mother to be calm, Kahlan. Can you do that for her?"

Kahlan nodded, gulping down another breath. "I can," she whispered.

"Good." He smiled at her like she'd just given him a priceless gift, but all she could think was that he could have been dead. Long after Zedd came up and healed him, it still played over and over in her mind. He could've been dead.

**xxx**

She couldn't sleep that night. Kahlan lay a long time in the small tent the men had erected for her and Richard, watching him sleep while she tossed and turned and struggled to get comfortable. Her back ached continually, and her swollen sides were tight with cramps, as if her moon blood was only days from returning. She held her breath in the darkness, and tried not to weep. Richard had almost died because of her. And mere hours before that, death had nearly found him in the rift.

It seemed death was stalking ever closer, closing in around him. The prophecy came rushing back to the forefront of her mind, impossible to ignore.

_The Keeper's daughters hunt the one conceived in sorrow – child of love and fury – for their master lusts for its soul. If he gains it, the one in white will perish and all life shall follow her. But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living._

Even Richard was starting to view his death as a good thing, a worthwhile thing if it spared her life. And now the D'Harans, who were sworn to protect him, stayed at her side instead. She was a distraction, and she would be his death. The prophecy promised as much.

Kahlan struggled to push herself up, floundering on either side of her enormous belly. When at last she was sitting, she had to stop a long time and rest, wringing the blanket in her hands to keep from crying out as her cramps worsened, sending an ache burning across her belly and down her back.

As soon as she could, she groped for her pack in the darkness, blindly searching until her hand closed around candle and flint. There was a spark and a flame, and the candle lit. She looked to Richard, fearing he would wake. He was always a light sleeper, waking nearly every time she so much as shifted, but he did not even stir. Two injuries healed by magic in less than a day had left him utterly exhausted. That knowledge only strengthened her resolve. Kahlan fished out her quill and a lone scrap of parchment, and by the light of a single, flickering flame, she began to write.

It took a long time. She had to pause regularly in her letter writing as fresh pains assailed her belly and back, leaving her unable to concentrate on her work until they subsided. Kahlan wrote faster with the passing of each bitter cramp. The sooner she could get out of the tent and stretch her legs, the sooner the pain would subside. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, and it seemed to her that her heart beat too loudly inside the silent tent. When she was finished, she stopped and studied the letter, hunching close over the flame to read it.

_My dearest Richard,_

_By the time you read this, I will be nearly all the way safely to Isham. I will stay there until you seal the rift and come for me. I was being selfish, wanting to keep you near me, but the good of the world must come before my own whims and desires._

_The people need you now, and I have become a distraction to you and your new men. I can't fight anymore, and I have no place in a battle. I could not live with myself if I was the cause of your death, and if I stay here, I will bring the prophecy down on you._

_Don't worry about me. I will have one of your men escort me to Isham. Do not come before the world is safe, Richard. You're the Seeker, and Lord Rahl now, and you can do this. I have never once doubted that. Your daughter and I will be waiting for you there, and we will all be spared the prophecy. Please, know how much I love you. My heart is yours and only yours, in this world, and the one beyond._

_All my love,_

_Kahlan Amnell _

She left the note beside him on her empty bedroll. Her heart begged her to wait until morning, but that was not possible. If she did, he would never let her go. And Kahlan knew she would not have the strength to leave if they spoke face to face. She would cling to him, and beg him to stay by her side until long after their babe was born, while outside their walls, the world would fall. She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to his cheek. And with a final look at his sleeping face, Kahlan blew out the candle and slipped away into the night.


	31. Trust

**XXXI. TRUST**

The camp was little more than starlight and silence, a black world of sleep. No fires had been lit for the night watch, and the shadows that stretched between the tents loomed long and deep. The darkness was meant to hide them from banelings, but it was Kahlan who slipped past unseen, her cloak wrapped close around her. Slowly, carefully, she edged her way towards the sentinels guarding the outskirts of camp. She searched their faces, squinting in the darkness for one who appeared still more boy than man. It took a long time. Most were grizzled, war-hardened men. But at last she spotted a wide-eyed lad in boots too big for him, clutching his sword as he stared out at the night.

The moment he saw her approaching, he straightened up and nearly dropped his sword. His gaze flitted from the ground to the sky to the hem of her cloak; anything to avoid meeting her eyes. Her mere presence was enough to set most of the men on edge. She knew a frightened rumor was already circulating through the camp of how their Lord Rahl had bedded a Confessor and escaped unscathed. She thanked the spirits that at least it had not yet reached Richard's ears.

"Mother Confessor," said the young solider, his shock of blonde hair very pale in the moonlight.

Kahlan smiled at him. "Richard sent me to you."

"To me?" he echoed in a shy, squeaky voice. "Lord Rahl?"

"Yes," she nodded and beckoned him closer. She had but to touch him, and she would have a devoted servant ready to whisk her away to Isham without a word to anyone. Alone with only the stars for witnesses, she found the possibility far more tempting than she'd imagined. Still, she pushed the desire away. She couldn't so simply destroy his life. She knew the look that would cross Richard's face if she did, and she doubted she'd have the strength to stand if she spent what little energy she had on confession. Kahlan tried to hide her weariness and went on, "What's your name?"

He hung back, face full of apprehension, but he answered and called himself John Rile. She lifted an eyebrow and asked his rank.

"I'm just a foot solider," he said. "The officers just call me Rile."

Kahlan nodded again, pressing a hand to the small of her back as a cramp sent raw pain spreading through her belly. "Well, Rile," she said, sucking in a deep breath. She winced, "You are to escort me to Isham on horseback. At once."

"But…" He hesitated, clearly unsure about both the command and the possibility of upsetting her. "Now? Alone? I thought all our force was escorting you there, Mother Confessor."

"Today's attack has changed Richard's mind," said Kahlan swiftly. "Two can easily slip by unnoticed in the night, where a hundred men marching will always attract attention."

Rile shuffled his feet. "I can see the sense in that," he mumbled.

"I knew you would, Rile. That's why Lord Rahl chose you. He heard you were a smart man." The young soldier beamed, and her heart twisted at the lie.

"Well all right, Mother Confessor. Just let me go tell Lieutenant Gurt. He's the officer on duty this watch."

"There's no need," said Kahlan. "He's already been informed." She shooed him away with her hand. "Get the horses and meet me here. Tell no one that they're for me. Richard is not yet sure that all of the D'Harans are to be trusted."

Rile nodded and disappeared into the night, his face still full of his newfound importance. Without him to distract her, the pain in her belly seemed sharper. By the time he returned, her knees were shaking. His eyes grew wide in the darkness, and he stopped at her side, asking if something was wrong.

"No." Kahlan forced herself to smile, and did her best to ignore the pain. She had to get away from this place. Richard wouldn't be safe until she did. She gestured towards the horse, steeling herself for what came next. "You have to help me up."

Rile hesitated again. "Mother Confessor, are you sure you're well?" he asked, scuffing his feet in the sand.

Kahlan struggled to find the voice she'd used back in Aydindril to issue commands. She prayed this man had not known Richard long enough to tell what his real whishes would be. "Richard wants me escorted to Isham. You will learn that your Lord Rahl has no tolerance for delay in carrying out his orders. Especially when they concern my life." She let her hand drop down to rest on her belly. "Or the life of his child."

Rile winced and nodded, and before she had the chance to even draw another breath, he was already hoisting her up onto her horse.

They rode away from the camp into darkness, over the shifting sands. Though she'd hoped to make good progress, she continually had to ask Rile to slow their pace. The pain of being on the horse was growing near to unbearable, and it was all she could do to remain upright in the saddle. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her brow damp and sweaty. Waves of pain kept coming, stronger than before, and by the time the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, tears were streaming down her face. She gasped in pain as the next wave hit her, and Rile twisted around, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Mother Confessor? Are you all right?"

She couldn't bring herself to smile and lie again. "I have to," she gasped. "I have to get off this horse now."

He reined in his mare and dismounted, and it seemed too long, far too long until his arms were around her, helping her down. She clung to him and wished he was Richard.

The pain lessened some when she got off the horse, but her back still ached, and another cramp soon tightened her belly.

"Mother Confessor, you don't look well," said Rile. The young man kept raking a hand back through his shock of pale hair, clearly agitated, and it did nothing for her nerves.

"I'm fine," she said, pushing away from him. "I just have to get to Isham. I have to get there." Once she did, Richard would be safe. She huffed another breath and started walking, feet floundering in the sand, hands holding her aching, straining belly.

"Mother Confessor?" cried Rile in alarm. He danced to her side, eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

"Walking to Isham."

"But the horses?" he spluttered.

Kahlan saw red. Outside of the Con Dar, she could never remember feeling such sudden fury before. "If I have to get back on that evil beast again, I'll scream. Do you understand me?"

The poor soldier looked ill. He nodded and agreed with her again and again. She began to hate the sound of the words 'yes, Mother Confessor.'

She took another step. And another. "Do you want any help?" he asked, hovering at her elbow like a gnat she longed to swat away.

"I want," she paused, hands clenching into fists as the pain came again. She winced and waited; it felt like she was losing her mind. "I want you to stop talking," she snapped. "That's what I want. Can you do that, Rile? Can you stop talking for just a moment?"

There was no answer.

She glanced to her side, but Rile wasn't there. "Rile?" She whirled around. "Rile?" He stood several paces behind her, staring off at the horizon, a hand clenched around his sword. "What is it?" she called, fear slipping in to cool her anger.

"Get behind me. There are two riders coming our way," he said in a thin, nervous voice. He squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the brilliant orange of the rising sun. "They wear the red of the witches."

Panic seized her, and she hurried to his side. "You'll have to handle one of them," she said. "I can't confess both."

"I'll kill them both," said Rile. "Even a day serving Lord Rahl is enough to know he'd have my head if I let you near them." Kahlan was about to argue when another wave of pain came crashing over her, and she reached out, desperate for something, anything to cling to. Her hand found the saddle of Rile's horse, and she gripped it hard.

"Okay." Her voice came out too feebly to be the Mother Confessor's. Her thighs trembled with the effort of standing. She leaned forward, clinging to the horse's saddle, her head coming to rest against its flank. "Don't let them," she whimpered. "Please don't let them get my baby."

"I'll stop them, Mother Confessor," said Rile, but his voice trembled too. She wished again that he was Richard. She didn't know why she'd ever left his side. Kahlan leaned against the horse, already bracing herself for the next wave of pain when her own name came drifting to her on the wind.

"Kahlan! Kahlan, is that you?"

She lifted her head, hardly daring to hope that she should have such luck a second time, but she knew that voice. "Sister Isobel?" she cried, squinting at the faces of the fast-riding women. "Wait," she called to Rile. "I think I know them!"

"But they're witches!"

"No," she said. "No. They're Sisters of the Light." She nearly wept when the horses drew near enough that she could see the face of Sister Isobel, welcome and warm. Beside her rode one of the two sisters who'd accompanied her before – a beautiful, dark-haired woman with midnight eyes. "I know them," she insisted. "She raised me." Another wave of pain came over her, swooping up inside her to stronger twisted heights, the ache in her lower back spreading like wildfire to meet it. Kahlan shook, the insides of her thighs were suddenly slick and wet, and it was all she could do to keep from sinking to her knees in the sand.

Sister Isobel dismounted swiftly. There was a blur of red, and then warm, wrinkled hands were there, pushing the hair back from her sweat-streaked brow. "Kahlan," she said in a soft, troubled voice. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

"Not alone," she gasped. "Rile." She paused, clinging to the sister's frail shoulders for support. "He's taking me to Isham. I have to get to Isham."

The words jogged her memory, and she pushed away from Sister Isobel, stumbling slow steps through the sands. One foot then the other, and then Sister Isobel was holding her again.

"Kahlan," she said, her tone as patient and soothing as if she spoke to a frightened child in Thandor. "You can't go to Isham."

"I have to. I can't let Richard die. I have to go." She stopped, gasping in a strangled breath. "I'm a danger to him." Tears filled her eyes and started trickling down her face. Oh, how she missed him. Surely he'd read her letter by now. She wondered if he was furious. If he hated her for leaving.

"Child, you're in labor. You can't go to Isham."

"Labor?" echoed Kahlan. "No. No, no. It was just the horse. I can handle pain. I just, I just need to keep walking." She nodded several times as she spoke, but Sister Isobel's expression remained stern.

"It's nearly a day's ride to Isham," she said. "You cannot go there, Kahlan. Not when your time has already come. My sisters and I are staying at a settlement nearby. I'll take you there instead," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

"Richard," said Kahlan weakly. "He won't know where I am."

Sister Isobel scoffed at that. "Child, now's not the time to worry about him. Your gown is already wet with the birth waters. You must save what strength you have left for what is to come. Look around you; this is no place for your babe to be born."

Kahlan blinked, taking in the endless, rolling sandhills. They went on forever. If it weren't for Rile and Sister Isobel's dark-eyed companion, they would be utterly alone before the horizon. She winced as her belly began to tighten, bracing herself for another wave of pain. It wrung her resolve from her with a cry, and she reached for Sister Isobel's hand, still gasping.

"Is it far?"

"Not at all," she assured her.

Rile was suddenly at her side, clutching his sword and whispering her title. "I think Lord Rahl would want you to go to Isham," he said, casting dubious glances at the women. "Or to return to camp. Not to this other place."

Sister Isobel rounded on him. "Have you no compassion? You would force a laboring woman to ride halfway across the dessert? Or to return to a camp full of men? Of filthy soldiers? Ha!" she snorted. "What do you and your friends know about birthing babes?"

Rile flushed bright red. "Nothing, I…" he stammered. "I'm sorry." Sister Isobel huffed like the sharp-tongued school mistress she'd been once in Thandor, and looked about to turn back around when Rile piped up again. "I still say we should let Lord Rahl know." He looked quite surprised at himself for having spoken, and Sister Isobel's eyes flashed like he was an unruly pupil. Kahlan well remembered how rude Richard had been to her when they'd met before, but even that memory only made her miss Richard more.

"Please get him," she whimpered as pain took her again, melting her words into a moan. "Please," she said, turning towards Rile. "Tell him I'm sorry. It's all my fault." Tears swam in her eyes, her trembling hand reaching down to rub her belly. She had no idea how to birth this babe, and shook with the fear of what was to come. She needed Richard at her side when it happened. "He promised to be here," she wailed, vaguely aware that she was weeping again. "He said he'd be here when she was born." She gripped Rile's arm hard, her nails digging in. "Tell him I need him to come. Fast."

Rile nodded, but still he hesitated, looking from her to Sister Isobel, and back again. "Maybe I should bring you with me, Mother Confessor. I don't like leaving you alone with strange women." A hard look came into his eyes. "Women who dress like witches."

"Sister Isobel raised me," she snapped. "The only way I could be safer would be for Richard himself to be here with me. Now either go freely, or I will confess you and make you go."

Rile paled until he nearly matched his hair. "Very well, Mother Confessor. I will go."

"Sister Hanna will go with you," said Sister Isobel with a smile, showing no sign of offense at Rile's distrust. "She knows the way to the settlement." Rile glanced at Sister Hanna and said nothing, but he kept a tight grip on his sword.

The younger woman looked to Sister Isobel, who nodded once. Without a word to anyone, she mounted her horse and sat there waiting for Rile to ready his. He couldn't seem to stop looking over his shoulder, his eyes bright with worry, but soon enough he too was in the saddle. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as Kahlan watched them ride away, feeling suddenly very alone.

As soon as they disappeared over the first hill, Sister Isobel tugged her hard towards her own horse. "Come on, child. Up you go."

Kahlan shook her head, memories of the agony she'd endured in the saddle still fresh in her mind. "I can't," she said, backing away from the animal. "It hurts too much."

Sister Isobel tugged her back again. "You have to," she said, kneeling down beside her and wrapping her arms around Kahlan's legs. "Or you will be found."

Kahlan bent her head down to look at the sister. "Who's looking for me?" she asked as Sister Isobel hoisted her up onto the horse.

"Everyone, Kahlan. Everyone."

**xxx**

"We're almost there," said Rile to the sister. "That's the Hunchback." He gestured to a large, tan rock, hewn by wind and sand and time into a shape that resembled an old man long bent by his burdens. Every last stone had a name in D'Hara. It was the only way to tell which way you went when all the sand looked the same.

The sister gave a slight nod, but said nothing. She'd been silent the whole way there. Rile tried his best not to shudder. It seemed unnatural though. It was hard not to hate her on sight, dressed as she was in witches' red, but the Mother Confessor had called her a Sister of the Light. It sounded like some sort of religious title, like an order of something or other.

He cast another sideways glance at her long, pale face. She still stared at the sands before her in absolute silence. Maybe it was a vow of silence. He'd heard monks took those sometimes. He talked all too much himself; the other men always complained about it. Said he talked their ears off, but he'd have to do it again. Personal escort to the Mother Confessor, and now riding alone with a witch who didn't say two words put together. That was a story he'd have to tell.

He looked up, taking in the sands before him. Overhead the sky was blue as a robin's egg. "Just past that next ridge there is where we made camp last night," he volunteered.

The sister said nothing, but reined in her horse, bringing the black gelding to a halt several paces behind him. Bristling with irritation, he turned his horse around and rode back to her. "What are you stopping for?" he asked.

The sister remained silent.

"You know you could at least answer me. Just a word or two. Being silent like that's unnatural. Makes it hard to trust a person."

The sister reached into the folds of her flowing, red gown. Her face split into a beautiful, glorious smile, and when she spoke her voice was velvety and low. "You're right not to trust me," she said and her arm jerked up. There was a flash of silver, and John Rile fell dead.

Sister Hanna leapt lightly to the ground and yanked her dacra from his chest. She wiped the blood on the sand, and rode on over the final ridge alone.


	32. Gone

**XXXII. GONE**

Richard knew before he opened his eyes. Something was wrong. Sleep left him uneasily, and he shivered, cold and wary. The cramped tent felt vast and empty around him, as if he lay at the very center of an abyss. His hand crept for his sword as he opened his eyes, only to stop and reach for Kahlan's bedroll instead. It was empty of her, and a scrap of neatly folded parchment had been placed there, waiting for him right below the balled up cloak she used for her pillow. He picked it up with a trembling hand.

It was only just daybreak, so he lifted one of the tent's heavy flaps, letting in a faint, pale light. Richard squinted at the dark marks on parchment, words written in Kahlan's elegant hand. He read her letter three times over, and when he was finished he felt ill.

Kahlan was gone. Taken off in the dead of night like a mad woman. A part of him wanted to shout at her for being so senseless, for so needlessly putting herself and their child in danger. But far more than that, he wanted to hold her close again, and feel with his own two hands that she was safe.

He wasted no time readying himself for the day, but flew from the tent, the letter clutched in his fist, his hair still wild from sleep. The first person he saw was Cara, seated side by side next to the mammoth form of General Nox, the two of them silently chewing their way through a handful of hard, dry biscuits. They looked up at his sudden appearance.

"She's gone," he blurted out. He didn't know what to say beyond that. All his thoughts had been replaced by constant thrumming fear.

Cara's biscuit slipped through her gloved fingers and fell to the sand at her feet. "What do you mean gone?"

He clutched the letter tightly. "She wrote, she wrote…" He gulped in a deep breath of air and held her letter tighter still. "She left in the night for Isham, to keep me safe. She said she took a guard."

Nox got to his feet, shaking his huge, blonde head. His brow pulled down into a frown. "My men should know better than that."

"She's a Confessor," said Cara, the implication of her words hanging unsaid in the air. The man she chose may have had no choice.

Richard tried not to think about that, and clamped down on the swell of grief and fear rising in his chest. There was no time for such emotions now. He turned towards the general. "Find out if any of your men are missing. And then I need your three fastest horses. Cara and I leave for Isham at once. We'll need a guide."

Nox nodded. "Ill take you there myself, Lord Rahl."

What followed was a blur of motion. It seemed only moments since he'd awoken to find a scrap of parchment lying where Kahlan should have been, before he was seated on a horse, Cara grimfaced beside him and ready to ride. Only one man turned up missing from Nox's army, a boy just barely of age named John Rile. He'd been standing watch with the night guard. Also missing were two horses. The tale practically wrote itself.

Lieutenant Gurt, commanding officer of the night guard, was red faced and bursting with apologies. Richard barely heard him. He turned towards Zedd, who'd joined them in the commotion, and asked him to use his magic on a careful search of the area surrounding the campsite. There was no telling if or when Kahlan and Rile had been led astray.

"Is that the polite way of telling me I'm too slow to come along?" Zedd asked with a wink, trying to ease the tension with a bit of humor.

Richard couldn't bring himself to smile back. It was true. Zedd was too old. He couldn't keep to the pace Richard intended to set. When he said nothing, Zedd rested a weathered hand over his grandson's. "You'll find her, my boy."

Richard dug his heels into the horse's sides. "I have to."

**xxx**

Richard rode all morning with a sense of growing unease. Cara was a red blur on her horse beside him, and Nox a giant, blonde mass of hurtling steel and strength. They rode faster than he could remember ever riding before, but found no sign of Kahlan. The endlessly shifting sands left no tracks for them to follow. And as the sun climbed higher, so did his dread. Richard couldn't explain the feeling, but it felt like they were going the wrong way. Yet Kahlan hadn't lied. He carried her letter tucked inside his vest, close to his heart; its words were ingrained in his head, and he knew. She had done countless infuriating things by leaving the way she had, but she had not lied to him. Of that he was certain. Kahlan was headed for Isham.

At least, that had been her intention.

Abruptly, Richard wheeled his horse around. His thoughts tumbled through his mind so fast his skull ached. The morning sun blazed overhead, sand glinting like gold in all directions as it rushed outward to meet the blue of the day. He was vaguely aware of Cara and Nox reining in their horses, asking questions as they came to a halt beside him.

It felt too simple; a desperate ride to Isham to find Kahlan sitting there waiting, hands folded over her enormous belly. If she really did make it safely to the D'Haran stronghold, then an extra day of her waiting there would not bring her to harm. Richard pushed back his sweaty hair, growing furious with himself. He'd been in such a panic that he'd neglected to think things through. A guard could have been dispatched to Isham to ascertain whether she'd made it there, and he should have started working on all the what-ifs that could have happened to Kahlan. That might be happening to her now.

It was Cara finally reaching out and touching his arm that jarred him from his thoughts. "Richard, what is it?"

"She's not at Isham," he said, his voice dull and heavy. "Or if she is, she's safe. The desert is crawling with the Keeper's servants. If they've found her…" And hadn't killed her on the spot- that was a possibility he was refusing to acknowledge – then they would have taken her somewhere.

When he finally allowed himself a chance to breathe and think, the answer seemed as obvious as a great, gaping wound on otherwise unblemished skin. And in fact, that was what it was. A wound in the earth itself. "The rift," he said breathlessly. "We have to go to the rift." Nowhere in this world was the Keeper's power stronger or more insidious. It couldn't be coincidence, so many sisters amassing there, and now Kahlan alone and vulnerable. There had to be a reason. A prophecy at work. He tried to remind himself that he didn't believe in prophecy, but the knot in his gut tightened all the same.

Richard turned towards Nox. He'd been trained as a wood's guide back in Hartland. It was turning out to be a wholly different matter keeping his bearings in the desert.

"What's the fastest way to the rift?"

The general pointed. "Back the way we came. We've been riding the wrong way all morning."

Richard wasted no words. He nodded and his horse sprang forward.

They'd been traveling a little over an hour when he spotted a figure approaching from the west. Whoever it was rode at a breakneck pace to match their own. It was Nox who first identified him as a fellow D'Haran, shouting a gruff, "He's ours."

As they drew nearer, Richard could make out the engraved R's on the man's boiled black leather. It was still dizzying to think that the R referred to him now; these were his men now.

The soldier leapt from his horse as soon as they halted, clamping a fist to his heart. "Lord Rahl," he cried out. "General Nox." He had the small, compact body of a messenger, ideal for traveling fast with as little extra burden as possible to slow the horse. He was barely as tall as Cara, and standing beside his mountain of a general he would have looked comical, if not for the grim light shining in his pale green eyes.

Nox turned to him, "Why have you come, Brant? You have news?"

"Kahlan," interjected Richard, unable to stop himself. "Have you found her?"

"I'm sorry, my lord. We've found no trace of her yet. It's Rile's body that we found." He dug a hand into his saddlebag and drew out an object that glinted silver in the light. "Stuck in the chest with this," he said. "It's one of those odd knives the witches like to use."

Richard recognized the weapon at once, and Brant relinquished the dacra into his outstretched hand. It was a blade he'd come to know quite well since he met his first one embedded in the skull of an Ashkari scholar. This one was still crusted red with poor Rile's blood. He curled his fingers around the elegant blade to keep from dropping it. The Sisters of the Dark had done away with Kahlan's only guard.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth. "They've found her."


	33. Captive

**XXXIII. CAPTIVE**

"Is it much farther?" asked Kahlan. Every step the horse took felt like an avalanche beginning in her belly, and Sister Isobel kept them going at a swift, relentless pace. In the time since they'd left Rile and the other sister, Sister Isobel's eyes had hardened bit by bit. She wore a pinched look that gave her fresh wrinkles around the mouth. And so Kahlan bit her lip and tried not to complain too often. The danger must be very grave for Sister Isobel to be so tense and unsmiling with worry.

But when another pain wrung through her middle, Kahlan couldn't help herself. She cried out, tears and sweat mingling as they slid down her skin. "Please," she begged. "How far?"

To her surprise, Sister Isobel reined in her horse and answered her in a softer tone, her gray eyes kind once more. "We're here."

Kahlan blinked. They'd stopped in the middle of the desert. On all four sides ran an endless expanse of sand. "But…" she stammered as Sister Isobel raised an arm, red sleeve fluttering. The air tore like a veil, and before them a massive encampment shimmered into being. It rose up bold and brilliant under the blazing sun, a city built of silken tents, each one as red as Sister Isobel's gown. It looked like a pool of blood spilled on the golden sands. She had never seen magic of such magnitude before, not even Thandor was so well hidden, and this place so close to the Keeper's stronghold.

She nearly wept with relief. "The Creator has truly blessed you." Sister Isobel nodded but said nothing, starting forward into the waiting sea of red.

It was a city of women. From the moment they passed the first tent, she saw only Sisters of the Light peering out from between folds of red cloth. Women young and old, beautiful and plain, they were all there, all dressed in red. Unlike the times she'd entered Thandor, there was no singing, no voices lifted up in hymns to the Creator. Everything was utterly still – the only sounds the clink and shuffle of their horses. It was so odd that Kahlan had to remind herself that this was a place of war, that she was riding into a battle camp.

Sister Isobel led her straight in, the women parting like waves before them. No one spoke a word to her, not even in greeting. At last, Kahlan spoke up, "Do they know who I am?"

"They know." Sister Isobel leaned over, smacking Kahlan's horse hard on the rear. The animal sprang forward, and Kahlan sucked in a sharp, pained breath as they rode forward at a faster pace, jostling their way down the narrow lanes between the tents. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she tried just to remain on the horse. Surely they would stop soon, and she would be let down. She wanted only to get down from the horse.

Sister Isobel stopped abruptly. "Wait here," she said, dismounting in front of a large tent tethered with golden rope. Bewildered, Kahlan watched as she slipped inside, leaving her alone, still on her horse.

With each pain that passed, she thought she would surely die. Growing desperate, Kahlan urged her horse forward a little, peering down the paths between the tents. As soon as she caught sight of a sister, she called out. "Hello!"

The woman froze, staring at her. She was young, with sleek brown hair and rosy cheeks. "Please," asked Kahlan. "Would you help me down?"

The sister stared at her a moment longer, blinked, and then continued on out of sight without a word. She would have begun to weep in earnest if Sister Isobel had not at that moment reemerged from the tent, carrying a silver goblet in her hands. Reaching up, she passed it to Kahlan. It was filled with a dark, steaming liquid she did not recognize.

"Drink," said Sister Isobel softly. "You will need it for the birth."

It smelled rancid, but Kahlan was far past caring. She would swallow anything if it would take even the edge off her agony. She drank the hot, bitter liquid down, and it seemed to settle like a flame around her heart. Instantly she felt hotter, and the world tinged green.

Sister Isobel took the empty goblet from her and went back inside the tent again. The green cast to the day had faded already, as if it had been no more than a trick of her imagination, but she felt weak and wobbly, her lips still stinging from the drink.

When Sister Isobel reemerged, she was followed by four women. Three were young with thick hair and bright eyes shining in solemn faces, and one was older even than Sister Isobel, a stout woman with heavy wrinkles. Kahlan looked at them in hope, wondering which one might help her down from the horse. Perhaps one of them was trained as a midwife. But not one of them reached for her. She watched uncomprehending through a haze of pain as one of the younger sisters walked behind the tent, only to return moments later, leading four horses already saddled.

The women began to mount up. "Wait, where are we going?" she stammered. "I want down."

Sister Isobel leaned over and took the reins from her, tethering their horses together. With a gentle hand, she brushed back the sweat-dampened hair from her brow. "We can't stay here, little Kahlan."

Her thighs trembled against the saddle. "But why?"

"Surely you know of the Keeper's growing power. Remember the prophecy about your child. That is why."

Kahlan felt queasy. The words made no sense, but her magic told her that Sister Isobel did not lie.

"We have to hurry," said the heavyset, eldest sister, her voice impatient. It was the first time any of the others had spoken. Sister Isobel's head snapped around, and the two women exchanged a look Kahlan did not understand. It felt like a wordless argument, but it was impossible to tell who had won. Neither said anything more. Instead, Sister Isobel clucked to her horse, and Kahlan's quickly followed.

It was not until they were on the very outskirts of camp that she remembered Richard. Desperately she twisted around in the saddle, trying to see behind her, and nearly fell off.

"What are you doing?" said Sister Isobel in alarm, reaching out an arm to steady her.

Kahlan shook her head. "Richard. He won't be able to find me."

"Sister Hanna knows where we go," volunteered the eldest sister in a clipped voice. Sister Isobel did not bother to slow the horses, and in the next moment, it was too late. The camp shimmered back into nothingness, leaving only a wide expanse of desert. When she glanced back a second time, Kahlan could not even say for certain exactly where it had stood. All the land looked the same.

They rode on and on and on. For a time, there was only the sand flying by and the pain. The sisters set a rapid pace, and it was a constant struggle not to fall off the horse. She wondered if this would ever end. It seemed she would be in pain forever.

When another pain swept through her, tearing a strangled cry from her lips, the squat, irritable sister looked up again. Kahlan thought she saw the woman roll her eyes, but that could not be. "We won't make it in time at this pace," she said to Sister Isobel.

"We will." Sister Isobel was ever calm. "Kahlan is riding as fast as she can."

"She'd ride faster if we tied her to the horse."

"If you tied me to the horse?" Kahlan straightened up. She felt like weeping in confusion. Nothing made sense anymore. "I just want down. Please, I just want off this horse. It hurts." Tears began to stream down her face. Richard would let her down. If she said she needed off the horse, he would stop and let her down, no matter what.

"Just a little farther," promised Sister Isobel, but Kahlan barely heard her. She wanted Richard. She was about to rein in her horse when she remembered she no longer held the reins. For a moment she considered heaving herself to the side and falling to the ground, it hurt so much to ride, but the fear of causing harm to her child made her endure.

Sweat and tears no longer seemed separate things, and she wept long and loud for Richard. Sister Isobel shushed her patiently, and no one else said a word.

Kahlan had no sense of how long or how far they'd ridden, when suddenly the horses began to balk at going further, digging in and tossing their heads. To her astonishment, instead of urging the animals onward or soothing them, the women simply dismounted. They did not seem displeased or concerned. In fact, they didn't even appear surprised. Unfamiliar hands helped her down. She had never been so happy to stand before in her life, but she looked up at the skittish horses and her joy faded fast. "Why are they afraid?" she asked, wrapping her hands around the weight of her belly.

"These are dangerous lands," said Sister Isobel, starting up the very same sand dune the horses had balked at. Kahlan stayed put. Richard had always told her that a lot could be learned by watching animals. They'd been riding through dangerous lands all day, but only now did the horses balk at going further. She glanced back; already they had turned tail and fled, and the sisters seemed not to care in the least. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up, and for a moment, she forgot the pain. It was as if she could hear Richard's voice inside her head, warning her not to go where the horses would not.

Sister Isobel turned back, her smile all kindness and concern. "Do you need help walking, Kahlan?"

Something inside her squirmed, but she didn't know why. She came to a sudden decision. "I'm waiting here for Richard."

The eldest sister looked incensed; her pudgy cheeks flared as red as her gown. "This is ridiculous! Sister Isobel, this has gone on long enough."

Sister Isobel appeared not to hear her, turning to chide Kahlan. "In the middle of the desert? Be reasonable, dear."

"But Sister Hanna will bring him here soon, right?"

"Yes, of course. Now move," snapped the older sister, and Kahlan's blood ran cold. In a way, it felt as if she should've known. Her magic stirred inside her, offering up a warning; the woman lied.

Her gaze flitted from sister to sister, taking in the strangers who guarded her. Only Sister Isobel was smiling. "What's wrong, Kahlan? It's only a little farther now."

Kahlan stood stock still as Sister Isobel drew closer, the same woman who'd hugged and comforted her in childhood. She swallowed the lump in her throat. If she was right, and spirits how she hoped she was wrong, she'd get one chance. She forced herself to wait until Sister Isobel stood right in front of her, and then she staggered forward, reaching out as if to steady herself on the sister's arm. Swiftly she changed direction, and clamped her hand around Sister Isobel's throat instead.

Her power surged inside her, ready to rage as free and destructive as wildfire, but she hesitated, staring into the soft, gray eyes of the woman who'd been like a mother to her in Thandor, and who she'd thought had loved her too. She had to ask first, or she'd regret it forever if she was wrong. "Are you a Sister of the Dark? I'll know if you lie."

Sister Isobel gave her a quiet smile, and Kahlan felt a sudden pinprick of needle-sharp pain. Looking down, she saw one of the silent younger sisters had edged closer. Her dacra pressed against the swell of Kahlan's belly, the tip digging in enough to draw a single drop of blood, ruby red against her white gown.

She looked up again and found Sister Isobel smiling still. "Of course, Kahlan," she said in that same gentle voice. "What did you expect? Now let go of me, or else I do believe Sister Lena here will skewer you and your child like a stuck pig."


	34. Rift

**XIV. RIFT**

Kahlan loosened her grip, uncurling her fingers from around Sister Isobel's neck. She could feel the painful pressure of the dacra still digging into her belly. Confessing Sister Isobel would mean death to her child. There was no choice; Kahlan dropped her hand to her side.

Sister Isobel smiled. "That's better. I always knew you were sensible, Kahlan, even as a little girl."

"Don't talk to me about Thandor." Her blood curdled in her veins. "You've betrayed everything you once stood for. Everything you believed in." She felt as if she'd taken a blow to the heart. Her father's sudden switch to despising her and Dennee at their mother's death had hurt less than this.

But Sister Isobel just shook her head. "No. I've watched countless children suffer. It wasn't just you and your sister. Every child who came to Thandor was special, and every one had been abused by those who were supposed to love them best. I prayed to the Creator for years that she would do something to stop this, and she never did anything."

"The Sisters of the Light!" Kahlan fought back frightened, frustrated tears. She couldn't cry now. "Did you ever think that they might be her answer?"

Sister Isobel gave her a patient smile. "The Keeper has promised to see that no children suffer ever again. All will find peace in his way. He has shared with me visions of the endless calm he will soon bring about." Kahlan thought of the dacra pressed against her belly, and all the countless women the banelings had killed just to get at and destroy their unborn babes. Sister Isobel reached out, taking Kahlan's face in her hands. "You will get to help bring that peace, little Kahlan," she said in the same gentle voice she'd used all along. As if nothing had changed. "I'm so happy it is you. You always were my favorite."

"Enough reminiscing," said the stout, elderly sister; her wrinkled face hard, eyes unforgiving. "Move, Confessor."

The dacra dug into her belly a bit more as if to emphasize the woman's point, and Kahlan could do nothing but comply. She took a small step forward. "Where are we going?"

"Just walk." She felt a second dacra point press against the small of her back.

Kahlan took another step, caught between the blades. The pain of labor had faded with the sudden realization of Sister Isobel's betrayal, but as she forced her body to begin moving again, it came back in tight waves, and she groaned. The dune they were forcing her up was steep, and as she staggered up the shifting sands, she reached inward, struggling to summon the wrath of the Con Dar. If Richard didn't show up soon, it would be her only hope. But as angry and betrayed as she felt, the wild, primal anger of the blood rage remained elusive.

Sister Isobel kept a hand on her arm, gently helping her along. "Careful," she cautioned when Kahlan stumbled, steadying her by the elbow.

Kahlan wrenched her arm away. "Don't touch me," she hissed though she was in no position to stop her.

Sister Isobel heaved a weary sigh. "Don't think so unkindly of me, Kahlan. I have always had your best intentions at heart. The Confessors are of the past. You're the last of a dying breed. Instead of fading with the rest of your sisters, you are to become the mother of a new world. Your name will be remembered by every last soul beyond the end of time. "

"A dead world!" Kahlan spat. Her mind was racing. She had to slow these women down, and buy Richard more time to find her. If, she realized suddenly, he was even aware she needed him. If word had ever reached him. A chill ran down her spine. Rile's escort was a Sister of the Dark. It was all too likely the young soldier was dead. She swallowed hard and slowed her steps as much as she dared, turning back to Sister Isobel. "You tricked me."

"Actually, I did no such thing. I never once lied to you. When the Keeper learned of our shared history, he, in his infinite wisdom, realized that I was the one person who knew you well enough to keep you calm. To speak only the truth in a way that would not alarm you unnecessarily."

"You mean you knew enough to deceive me."

Sister Isobel seemed not to hear her. Instead, a glimmer of pride shone in her soft gray eyes. "The other sisters were on strict orders not to speak in your presence unless absolutely necessary." She shot a scathing look at the stout old sister beside them. "Sister Dana always did have trouble following even the simplest of directions."

Another wave of pain hit Kahlan abruptly and she groaned. She staggered forward, and would've collapsed then and there if not for the sisters grabbing her beneath the arms. They hauled her bodily up the rest of the dune while she struggled to make her legs stop shaking.

When they dropped her at the top, she finally understood why the horses had turned tail and fled. "No…" she stammered, staring out at the nightmare awaiting her. Before them stretched the rift. Acrid smoke hung like clouds, and broken, charred earth gaped open, a chasm leading down into the bowels of the Underworld.

Kahlan was so overcome by the sight, it took her a long time to realize the sisters had all stopped moving and were staring as well. She wondered if they planned to kill her here, at the very gateway to the Underworld. But though the dacras remained dangerously close to her unborn child, the sisters seemed almost distracted. The one before her, Sister Lena she'd been called, pursed her lips together.

"Are you sure it won't hurt?" she asked as if resuming some prior conversation Kahlan had no knowledge of.

Sister Dana scoffed. "What's a little pain for our master, if it does? We will have our reward."

"What's your reward?" gasped Kahlan, forcing out words when she longed only to groan in agony. Her labor seemed to be growing stronger. She felt feeble and lightheaded. The land and sky revolved slowly before her, changing places in an endless awful dance. But she had to keep them talking, stall them from whatever they had come here to do to her and her daughter. The prophecy floated through her mind like a warning. This was the moment the Sisters of the Dark had been working for. Surely at least one of them would want to stop and gloat.

Sister Dana smirked. She dragged the point of her dacra along Kahlan's jawline, down her throat, letting it settle between her swollen breasts. "My reward is my youth, my beauty restored for all eternity." She lifted an eyebrow, studying her intently. "You do not understand what a fine thing you have here in this body. No one who is young does." She jerked her head at her companions, the younger Sisters of the Dark. "But I think some of you will begin to comprehend sooner than most." No one said anything, but Sister Lena flinched almost imperceptibly.

Kahlan didn't understand. "What?" she murmured.

"Move." Sister Dana's voice was little more than a growl. "We're wasting valuable time."

The press of the dacra forced her another step forward, the charred earth beginning to slant on a steep incline. Her muscles cried out at the change, and a sharp spasm flared across her lower back. With all the strength she had left, Kahlan forced her Confessor's face into place and talked through pain that made her want to weep.

"Where are we going? What are you going to do to my child?"

It was Sister Isobel who answered her. "That's not for us to tell you, Kahlan." Amazingly her tone was still one meant to soothe. "It'll be easier for you if you just walk."

Kahlan stumbled forward a few steps more, the rift opening up before her like a giant mouth prepared to swallow her whole. If they got much closer, they would be in real danger of falling in. Green smoke drifted past, blown out of the chasm by a hot wind.

She looked back at Sister Isobel. The woman slowed a little every time she stopped to speak with her. "How did you," she groaned, "how did you find me? When we parted, we went in different directions."

Sister Isobel laughed. "Not for long. We've been trailing you closely since that day, carefully concealed with spells even your wizard doesn't know."

She thought of their hidden battle camp and wasn't surprised. "Where did you learn this magic?"

"The scholars of Ashkari knew many things."

Kahlan remembered the empty, snowbound city and the suicidal scholars. "They burned their books."

"On the Underworld, yes. We sought information on how to better serve our master, and they destroyed all sorts of books you would no doubt think dark and foul. But they left many others, books on magic not necessarily malevolent, but still powerful. Books that I do believe would cause a stir even at the Wizard's Keep. They helped us to track you, to hide our camp, and as we speak they are helping my sisters launch an attack on the rebel D'Harans led by Richard Rahl."

Kahlan's heart skipped a beat, and she tried not to think about what her friends might now be facing. She couldn't lose herself to those fears. Richard was smart. He would survive their attack, but it meant help might not be coming any time soon, if at all.

Sister Isobel seemed to read her face. "Come now, Kahlan, don't be grieved on his account. The prophecies make no secret of how he got you with child."

Kahlan said nothing.

The feel of a dacra point jabbing at her spine in warning forced her to quicken her pace once more. They had descended even farther down the ragged black cliffs. There was no longer any trace of blue sky above. All was dense green fog. She began to cough and gripped her belly, keeping her feet only because of the sisters who dragged her along.

Instinct made her pull backwards as they drew near to the gaping chasm in the earth, where a mangled stairway descended into darkness. But it was a feeble tug. She felt on the point of collapse, weak and nauseous. Twice she crumpled to her knees, only to be yanked upright and hauled closer still. It seemed impossible that the women would keep going; surely not even they could walk into a place belonging to the dead, but they didn't turn back.

"We can't," she choked out. "How can we enter the rift?"

"Don't worry," soothed Sister Isobel. "The potion we gave you will take care of that."

She had forgotten all about the potion they'd given her before. The one she'd so foolishly drunk without question. Kahlan wondered what it did. If it was somehow already harming her child from within.

The pains of her labor were coming quicker now, and she could fit fewer breaths between each one. She staggered forward as long as she could under the threat of their dacras, and they dragged her limp form along when each new pain hit, and she could not force her feet to move.

Sweat soaked and nauseous, Kahlan tried once more to summon the Con Dar, fumbling through pain and exhaustion for the strength of the blood rage. If they forced her all the way into the Underworld, she knew there would be no escape. She would never again see the world of the living. But the fury of the Con Dar seemed to slip further away with every step, and then she was stumbling half blind down steps cut into the charred wall of the rift.

She breathed in green smoke and the stench of death. All the lights had gone out. Kahlan looked up, and everything spun. She thought for a moment, as if in a dream, that she should see stars, it was so dark. But there were none overhead. The sky was gone.

She realized with dreadful certainty that she had just entered the Underworld. Her head seemed to clear, and through the gloom she saw the red-robed specter of Darken Rahl walking slowly towards her.


	35. Trade

**XXXV. TRADE**

"Why is there a dacra at her belly?" Darken Rahl spoke softly, smoothing a pale, greenish hand along the sleeve of his robe. Kahlan looked down as a sister withdrew the blade in question, puzzled by the sudden reversal of the threat. But the dacra at her back remained, and Sister Dana pressed another against her throat as if in compensation. Rahl's eyes flashed. "Remove the blades. All of them."

Sister Dana hesitated. "But she's dangerous."

"One woman in labor? She is quite contained here." He rubbed at his temple, lips drawn into a thin line. "Why do you insist on failing at even the simplest of tasks? You promised to deliver her without using force."

"And so we have." Sister Isobel stepped forward, armed with apologetic smiles. "She was just a little nervous, poor thing." Kahlan blinked. Sister Isobel's smile seemed far more wizened than before, her gray hair thinner and ragged. She almost shrugged it off, but a glance at Sister Lena showed her flawless young skin to be steadily blossoming crow's feet. Sister Dana grew more and more stooped with every passing breath. All of the sisters were aging impossibly fast.

Kahlan held out her own hands, only to find they had not changed in the least. The skin remained smooth, unmarred by wrinkles or age spots. Whatever terrible effect the Underworld was having on the Sisters of the Dark, she appeared to be immune. She remembered Sister Isobel's words about the potion. Apparently they'd only had enough for her.

Even that thought was fleeting as another pain started in her belly and burned through her. She clenched her hands in fists, biting her lip to keep from groaning. The dacras were gone and every instinct urged her to attack, but Rahl was right. She was quite contained, her own body effectively holding her hostage. She thought of the child that was about to come no matter where she was and felt ill.

She could think of nothing to do, no strategy for escape. She longed to see Richard's face just one more time.

"We've brought her to you. We've fulfilled the agreement." Sister Dana's voice broke through the haze of pain, now hoarse and almost inaudible, save for the harsh rasp of impatience. She shoved her, surprising strength in her bony fingers, and Kahlan went sprawling, catching herself on her hands and knees. A long scratch formed across her palm, and her body shook from the impact. Sister Dana creaked and glowered, "Now we'll have our reward."

Rahl had stepped back as she came sprawling, as if to avoid her flailing arms. Kahlan didn't have the energy to haul herself up again, but she lifted her head, staring at him through the mass of her hair.

"Reward?" His eyes danced with cold amusement. "My dear woman, you do not get your reward until the child is born and bonded to the Keeper by its first breath. If your time is running out, I suggest you encourage the Confessor to get on with it."

"Bonded to the Keeper? My baby?" Kahlan's arms shook. "How?"

Rahl tilted his head, looking down at her. "By the very power of her first breath. The Creator gives life, and the Keeper takes it away. But in bringing you down here, the tables have turned." He paced around her as the sisters aged and her belly tightened. "It will be the Underworld that gives your daughter her first breath of life, binding her to this realm, instead of the one above."

"That's not possible," hissed Kahlan.

"Oh but it is." He smiled at her. "Think of it as giving the Keeper his very own child. It is not possible for a soul to be more loyal, more utterly devoted to the Keeper than she shall be when she first breathes in life from him, not her Creator."

Kahlan trembled. Death would be a better fate. "No," she said, her voice low and unsteady. "No, no." She could not stop shaking. The violence came from somewhere deep within, pushing itself outward until her whole body was caught up in it, quaking and shuddering. Her lips were still mouthing 'no' when a primal shriek of fury tore from her throat. It lifted her to her feet as if she had suddenly become weightless and as strong as iron. The sisters took a collective step back, but it was useless.

Pain left her as the cavern before her tinged the bloody red of the Con Dar. Kahlan flung her arms wide. There was a boom of sound as if they lived inside an earthquake, except she had felt it there at her fingertips. The sisters' eyes blackened in unison. They were hers. Aged and aging, yet hers.

Already, Sister Dana was little more than skin and bones. As she looked on, the woman seemed to shatter from within, crumpling into ash and nothingness with a moan.

Kahlan felt nothing, said nothing. Slowly, she rounded on Sister Isobel instead. The traitor. Her head rang with the word. Traitor. She would pay.

"Mistress," whispered Sister Isobel, her face now a web of wrinkles. Kahlan didn't hear the reverence with which she spoke. There was only vengeance.

"Die for me," she said, her voice rising up cold and calm out of the storm at her center.

And she did. Death came for her sudden and silent, as her heart obeyed her mistress and ceased to beat. Sister Isobel crumpled to the ground, and Kahlan looked swiftly past her. Sister Lena and two others remained. Before they had been young; already they appeared middle-aged. She had not yet learned their names, but it did not matter. They were hers.

She stepped towards them, feeling a surging desire to kill. To ask for death and watch them topple. But even beneath the rage, she felt the life inside her, her daughter's gift too young to rise alongside her own. She would need these women. These guards. She promised the coursing fury that they would die soon enough.

"Get me out of here," she ordered.

They raced to her side, dacras at the ready, though Rahl made no move to stop them. Instead, he smiled at her, a quiet smile of private amusement, and behind her she heard a faint, rumbling sound. It grew louder and louder as if the ground itself was alive and groaning. Kahlan looked over her shoulder in time to see the first rock fall. When it hit, the whole cavern shook.

"Run," she cried even as more boulders rained down, filling up the same stairwell through which they had entered, choking off their escape.

By the time they made it halfway to the passage, it was closed, and the sisters guarding her were old women. She whirled around, pointing a hand at Rahl. He was the one her magic could not touch. "Stop him," she seethed, the blood rage thrumming in her veins. But the sisters moved on feeble, faltering feet now.

The first crumpled to ash and bone before reaching him; the second just as her withered hand grasped his robe. Rahl stepped around the little pile of ashes and retrieved her dacra, throwing it in a deft arc straight at Sister Lena's wizened face. She fell dead, and then there were none.

"What now, Kahlan?" Rahl spread his hands, palms up. "My soul is immune to confession, and you have nowhere to go."

It did not matter. She had never felt stronger. She would confess all the other souls. One by one, she would turn every last soul in the Underworld to her will, until the Keeper opened up the earth and set her daughter free.

She set off with purpose, walking deeper into the dark, foul belly of the Underworld. But on the sixth step past the sisters' ashes, she faltered. Sudden, fierce pain tore through her, so great that, for a moment, she thought she'd been stabbed. The Con Dar broke in a way it never had before.

It was not Richard's voice coaxing her back from the wildness of the blood rage, but pain. It yanked her back, tearing limb from limb, mind from body until she was wretched and shuddering. Her enormous belly pressed against a stone as she curled forward and began to vomit. It seemed to go on forever; her insides roiling, hands scratching desperate at the ground. When it finally stopped, she could do no more than collapse on her back, staring up at the cavern through half-blind eyes. She let out a feeble, mewling sound. Her body would not stop trembling.

She saw Rahl's face loom over her. He smiled as if he'd been expecting this. "Ah. So it begins."

"What?" she choked out. "What's happening to me?"

"You're dying." Kahlan blinked, eyes watering. Rahl's smile broadened. "I see you do not understand." He settled on a hulking boulder and folded his hands neatly in his lap. "New life beginning in the Underworld should be an impossibility. It threatens to upset the very order of things. For you see, life is not compatible with death. A price must be paid."

Kahlan blinked again, struggling to track his words through the gnawing pain settling into her bones and her belly.

Rahl gestured at her, hand sweeping in an elegant arc. "Your daughter can only come to life in the Underworld if, at the same time, another soul is dying. In unison. You will give birth to your daughter here, but it will kill you." Kahlan's body shook with sudden, violent spasms, and she could not even find the voice to cry out. Rahl tilted his head, amending, "Is _already_ killing you. Her first breath will be your last, Kahlan. That is the price."


	36. Endurance

**XXXVI. ENDURANCE**

The first thing she came to understand was that it would have been better to die. When the sisters had been still alive and under her power, she should have ordered them to kill her. A swift death by their dacras for her and her child would have been far, far better than this.

It was not just the pains of childbirth. They were still there of course, twisting through her body in brutal, rhythmic waves. But for all that they hurt, they felt natural. There was something almost reassuring about the predictability of her labor pains, and she knew she could have endured them. It was the other, greater agony that would be her undoing. Brand new, white-hot pain that writhed and spread throughout her body, leaving her all but paralyzed and unable to stop shaking; the toll of the Underworld on the living. She should have turned to ash herself long ago, but whatever she'd drunk down had stopped that, and forced her into this lingering, living death that would last as long as the birth took. Until her daughter came to life in the waiting arms of the Keeper.

And through the hazy, pain-filled maze of her mind, Kahlan realized that was exactly what she could not allow to happen. Her daughter could not be born. Could not be allowed to live. That knowledge hurt worst of all, and a broken sob escaped her throat despite her efforts at holding it back. Above her, standing back and silently watching was Darken Rahl; through her tears, he appeared no more than a blur of black and red.

Kahlan turned her head from side to side, and finally caught sight of what she was searching for. She had long stopped wearing daggers in the boots she couldn't reach, but a dacra lay not far from her, glinting in the dim gloom of the Underworld. She could take hold of it if she stretched out her arm all the way, but then she would have to be fast. Her belly seemed to swell like a mountain before her, and that was where the dacra would have to plunge swift and sure with her last breath. If she delayed at all, Rahl would surely notice and stop her.

Tears ran freely down her cheeks, remembering how Richard's strong, gentle hands had cradled her belly, how he'd whispered to her about their child; hope and sorrow, loss and love all rolled into one precious being. The daughter she had thought he'd be holding soon, and now would never get to see. The one she was about to kill herself. Wherever he was, she could only hope he'd understand. He'd never find her now, not in this deadly, forsaken place, and even if he knew, he couldn't reach her. She had no other choice left.

She'd planned to make a quick grab for the dacra, but it hurt so much, she could only drag her arm to the side in tiny, halting increments. The rocky ground left scratches on her bare skin but she didn't feel them, lost beneath the greater agony of life wrung slow from her body.

Her hand made it a quarter of the way there, then a half. Still Rahl seemed not to notice. She had to stop and breathe then a long while, staring up at green smoke and dark stone, the air foul with the stench of death and vomit. Her hand slid a little closer, fingers straining as she thought about her daughter. She ran love like a ribbon through her head; _love, love, I love you_. She thought it again and again as she struggled, hoping that her daughter's newborn mind would somehow hear and understand. That she would know her mother did this out of love for her, and not a lack of it. That nothing had ever hurt her more than this.

Blinking away her tears, Kahlan reached out again, giving herself wholly to the task just as a heavy, black boot swung down. The dacra skittered across the stone. Not far, but just enough to be out of reach, like a cat toying with a mouse. Her hand fell limp and defeated to her side.

Rahl squatted down next to her, lip curling, a faint expression of distaste on his face. "So you want to die, Confessor? You will get there soon enough. Give birth and you will be free."

"No." Her voice was not much more than a whisper.

He chuckled softly. "You think you can resist? That you can long hold off and keep your body from doing as it is meant to do?"

It was in that moment Kahlan decided that was exactly what she would do. She would hold this child inside her until the effort killed them both. She could do no more, and no less than that.

For awhile, it was almost easy. She lay there, riding the waves of pain. Half-delirious but no longer struggling against it. Her thoughts drifted to Richard, and she imagined him there, her head cradled in his lap instead of resting on cold stone. He would smooth his fingers through her hair and wipe her brow. You can do this, he would promise. You can. I know you can, you can, you can. She smiled weakly as her body shook.

Rahl watched her, patiently at first, but by degrees he became more agitated, pacing a wide circle around the ground on which she lay. She began to wonder when something more would happen. When she would begin to die in earnest. And then something shifted deep within her; her labor changed, the pain becoming suddenly, fiercely purposeful. It filled her up with an all consuming urge to bear down and push. To birth her babe.

There was no resisting. She groaned and gasped and did as her body demanded, pushing her daughter closer to life. In desperation, she fixed one thought in her mind and one thought only. If she did not fight this, she gave her child, Richard's child, into the waiting arms of the Keeper. Not just as all souls go, but as his most devoted servant. He would have a Confessor of his very own. This was the world's destruction promised in the prophecy, and it could not be.

She locked her ankles together, her fingers digging desperate at the rock until they bled as she tried to hold back. With failing strength, she fought against the urge that grew and grew inside her, the voiceless command to push out her child and give her life. The feeling was one she could not have prepared for even in the depths of her darkest nightmares. For the first time since being captured, Kahlan Amnell began to scream.


	37. Sacrifice

**XXXVII. SACRIFICE**

Richard rode at the front of his men, the army kicking up a sand cloud behind him. On learning of Rile's death and Kahlan's capture, he'd delayed only long enough on his way to the rift to gather the D'Harans. He would need them now, their steel and their strength, especially if the Sisters of the Dark had taken Kahlan in any great number.

They were drawing nearer to the rift. Nox had called over that there was less than an hour left to ride, and they'd been pushing hard all day, working their mounts to the brink of exhaustion. Two horses had collapsed already. Richard didn't even have the luxury of feeling sorry for the poor creatures. All he could think of was what awaited him at the rift. His mind was racing as he rode, trying to come up with a strategy, but he had no idea what to expect. At least he'd killed the Keeper's hound. Getting to Kahlan would have been nigh impossible if that monster still lived to ravage his men and protect her captors.

She had to be so scared. Kahlan was the strongest woman he knew, but their child had changed her in so many ways. She would be frightened and exhausted now, with no way to fight back. He tried not to think of what she suffered; no doubt wondering where he was and what took him so long. But they had ridden a long way in the wrong direction on their way to Isham, and all that could be done now was to double back as fast as possible. It was already late afternoon, the sun far in the west preparing to set. If he thought of how long she'd been their prisoner, the grief would overwhelm him.

He focused only on going forward. Richard urged his horse to gallop faster, taking still more from the creature. Cara and Nox rode even with him, Zedd trailing a little ways behind them with the bulk of his men. Already he was thinking of them as his men; already he was asking them to quite possibly die for him this day.

A sudden flash of light blazed brilliant white across the sky, blinding him. He could see nothing as his horse reared, and all around him D'Harans shouted to one another in confusion, equally blinded by the light. Instinctively Richard reached for his sword as something hurtled just past his cheek. He flinched and rubbed at his eyes, his vision returning in blurry patches.

Gradually the blinding light faded, and he saw. They had been surrounded by a ring of red; an ambush out of the very sky. It was not just a few Sisters of the Dark, but several hundred women surrounding his army, the air burning up with their spells. Dacras were flying wild, and his men, still dazed and blinking, were slowly drawing weapons. Behind him, he could hear Nox shouting orders. There was a flash of silver, and instinct brought his sword up just in time to knock a dacra off its collision course with his head.

Steadying himself, Richard turned into the battle, striking down the nearest sister. She crumpled in a heap of long black hair and red robes, leaving him with an unpleasant, niggling feeling, as if he'd seen her somewhere before. He killed four more women before he remembered where he'd seen that pale face and midnight eyes. She'd been a companion to Sister Isobel the day their paths had crossed after escaping Ashkari. And then, in a sudden rush of understanding, he knew just how the Sisters of the Dark had captured Kahlan. Not by force, but by the crueler route of someone she had trusted. Someone she even, he believed, loved. His heart ached for her. Richard let out an anguished cry as he blocked another dacra. This was wasting time that Kahlan didn't have.

He had to get to the rift, but that was impossible now. They were surrounded. He killed his sixth sister, then a seventh, and the blood seemed lost far, far away, locked beneath his misery. An eighth lay motionless at his feet, when suddenly he caught sight of Nox fighting towards him like a giant above the crowd. His matted blonde hair was flecked with blood.

"Lord Rahl," he called the moment he gained the briefest respite. "You've got to get out of here! Get to her!"

Richard nodded, feeling a surge of hope. Here was a man who understood. But it was impossible. "There's no way out," he shouted back. "The fighting's too thick." And the sisters were pressing him hardest of all. If he turned tail and fled for the rift, he'd take a dacra to the head almost immediately. And he'd be of no use to Kahlan then.

"I've ordered some of the men to cut a path for you." Richard stared up at the huge general, wondering how he'd managed that in the madness of battle. He could barely hear his own thoughts above the shouts and the clang of steel on steel. And he knew nothing of the signals the men used to direct each other. Though the soldiers were sworn to him, he realized then just how disadvantaged he'd be without General Nox to communicate with them during battle. He took in the bloodied axe in Nox's massive fist. This was a man born to lead armies.

As he watched, Nox holstered the axe and swung his long bow down from his back. "I'll cover you. On my signal, you get out of here and you find your woman, Lord Rahl."

Richard nodded and gripped his arm a moment, hoping the gesture conveyed some of the bottomless gratitude for which he had neither words nor time to express. All around them, the battle raged on. It looked like little more than an angry red sea to him, but it must have made sense to Nox because, two dead sisters later, he nodded. To Richard's wonder, he saw the D'Harans begin to force an opening through the battle, keeping back the sisters, giving him a way out. Those few who managed to reach him were picked off by arrows from afar before he had any need to draw his sword.

And then, suddenly, he was free. The D'Harans closed ranks, keeping the sisters from following him. He didn't look back, but he wondered how many men had just died to grant him his escape. He vowed not to waste their sacrifice.

The sun was already starting to set, painting the west in crimson and orange as he used the dunes for cover in case anyone was following after. He thought he'd been careful, but it wasn't long before he heard the sound of a rider fast approaching. Richard let a hand lay loosely against his sword as he listened. One horse, no more than that. He pulled the blade free, eager to be done with the threat and on again, but when he wheeled around he found Cara riding towards him in her red leather, her short hair flapping wildly in the wind.

"Cara," he cried out.

She pulled even with him, her expression grave. She bore an angry cut across her cheekbone as if a dacra had glanced off her face.

"How did you make it through?" he asked. The D'Harans had only just been able to force a gap long enough to get him out.

"I could not let you go alone," she said, and Richard nodded, silently acknowledging the risk she had taken in coming after him. He could not find the words to say how glad he was to have her by his side. Instead, they rode.

It was not far, and before long they reached the rift. Charred black earth stood out in sharp contrast against the now orange and violet sky. Shadows loomed long and empty, and there was no one there. It felt as if his heart shuddered to a stop inside his chest. He dropped from his horse, and Cara followed suit. He didn't know what he'd expected to find, but it wasn't this. Not this emptiness.

"Where are you?" he whispered to himself.

Cara moved closer. "Are you sure she's here?"

"I don't…I don't know." He'd been so sure that he'd find her here at this place of greatest evil, but not even a single red-robed sister dotted the horizon. "I thought…" He raked a hand back through his hair as tears filled his eyes. He didn't bother turning away to hide them.

Cara shuffled her feet, hands clenched around her Agiels. "You can track anything," she said. "You'll find her."

But that was the problem; you couldn't track anything. Not in all this wretched sand. He kicked at a rock and then froze, staring at the ground. It bore faint yet obvious indents from his foot. Richard spun around, taking in the black expanse of the rift. It wasn't made of sand at all, but a darker, clumpier substance that bore tracks well.

New hope flared up in him and he started racing along the rift, leaving Cara to bring up the rear with the horses. He knew he'd found what he was looking for the moment he saw it.

There, at the top of a dune where the sands of D'Hara were just beginning to mix with the dark, rocky terrain of the rift, he saw the tracks of five people. By their size, he judged them to be five women. And between them were strange markings in the dirt, as if a sixth person had knelt there in their midst. His gut tightened. _Kahlan_. He followed the tracks down the hill towards the rift, and a few steps later, he saw it. The unmistakable outline of Kahlan's boot.

Richard dropped to his knees, gently touching the mark in the dirt. Kahlan had been here not long ago, had stood where his hand now pressed. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath. It was obvious that she had been forced along by the other women. Here and there, the tracks showed signs of their having dragged her with them. Richard raced from print to print, following the trail deeper and deeper into the chasm, green smoke now billowing around him.

He wasted no time explaining things to Cara, just kept following the trail down into the gloom until he reached a dead end, rock suddenly closing up the narrow way before him. Richard stopped, pressing his hands against the slab of cold stone.

Cara had caught up with him by then. "What is it? The tracks end?"

"No." He crouched down low, straining his eyes to see in the eerie green light of the chasm. "The tracks keep going just as before. The rocks look as if they've fallen in an avalanche, but their steps show no sign of reacting to falling rock. This happened after they passed."

"To keep anyone from following?"

"Maybe." He straightened up. "Or to keep Kahlan from turning back." His heart thudded dread. "They took her _into _the Underworld," he muttered, a shuddering breath escaping. "Alive." They had not killed her before she'd reached this impasse, and if they'd brought her this far alive, then it meant they needed her that way. For now. He still had some time before the prophecy came true.

But Cara was shaking her head. "That's not possible. I was talking to Nox last night. He's had men go too far into the rift. It starts to age you. Fast. Kahlan would be an old woman before she made it much farther. Why would they want that?"

"I don't know! But they did, and she's there, and I have to get to her. Now. Before the prophecy comes true." Before he lost everything. He realized with cold defeat that he'd stopped thinking of the prophecy as preposterous and begun accepting it as truth. The words haunted him.

_The Keeper's daughters hunt the one conceived in sorrow – child of love and fury – for their master lusts for its soul. If he gains it, the one in white will perish and all life shall follow her. But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living._

It had happened. The Keeper's daughters had come and claimed her, and now all that was needed was for Kahlan and their child to die, and all the world would fall.

"How?" Cara was saying. "You can't get through here, and even if you do find another opening, you won't live long enough to look for her."

"I don't need to live," he murmured.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Richard shook his head, not listening. If prophecy was true, then it was time he used it as a tool to help him, instead of continually bashing his head against it. He considered the second part of the prophecy, the one that spoke of his death, not Kahlan's.

_But, if by the Creator's grace, the one bound to the blade is given to the world of the dead, the child will be born into a storm that promises hope for the world of the living._

He had to die. That was it. He needed the sudden luck of some fatal blow. Some fatal grace to save the day. And then it clicked. Richard gave a shout and started running back up the rift to where the horses waited. The answer had been there all along, resting in his saddlebag. He could hear Cara moving quickly up the hill behind him, shouting questions, but he ignored her. Instead, he opened up his saddlebag, fishing out the black, leather bound book from Ashkari, and thumbing through the pages. Richard read the passage twice to be sure, and then pulled his sword from its scabbard, lifting the blade up to slice the skin on his arm.

Cara grabbed him just before the blade could cut through his flesh. "Are you mad? What are you doing?"

"Read it." Richard thrust the book at her, his mind already busy running over the steps to compose a Fatal Grace.

She straightened up and began reading aloud, in a tone like a child reciting a passage in a schoolroom. "When it was discovered that Jocelyn had journeyed to the Underworld, her father drew from his own blood a Fatal Grace, and fell on his knife before it could claim him."

Cara paused and looked up at him, her eyes full of too many dangerous questions. "Keep reading," he said through gritted teeth.

She sighed and acquiesced. "We thought it was an act of wild grief, but Jocelyn was recovered that next morning. She suffered less madness than the others and spoke plainly, claiming that her father appeared before her in the Underworld, holding off the Ripper long enough for her to return to the world of life. She says the fires of the Underworld had no effect on him, and, unlike the other souls, he could move freely, unbound by the Keeper of the Dead."

She paused again, her mouth a thin little line. "Keep reading, Cara!" he demanded.

She finished in a heavy voice, "It was as if the Creator herself was with him there. Though he is lost to us now, his body remained intact until dawn, when the Fatal Grace at last ripped him apart." She snapped the book shut. "This is suicide, Richard."

"The Keeper has the woman I love and my child." He grabbed the book from her. "Do you think there's anything I won't do to get them back?"

"Die?" Cara snorted in disgust. "How will you help her if you're dead?"

"Because I'll be in the Underworld too. There's no other way to get there so fast, and besides, I won't really be dead. Not if it works. The scholar that did this, he could move around in the Underworld unhindered. That's exactly what I need."

"You have no guarantee that it will work the same way for you." Her voice turned bitterly sarcastic, "That the Creator will come and save you."

"How else can I get to Kahlan?" he cried. "Tell me how to get to her and I'll do it!"

Cara said nothing. The silence on the black cliffs rang very loud. The sky had turned a deep, deep violet, still streaked here and there with orange. "I'll have until dawn before the Fatal Grace destroys me." If it worked at all. "Once Kahlan's safe, you can revive me. Not before."

"Richard…" To his surprise, her voice broke. He looked up. Maybe it was just the odd light, but there were tears swimming in her eyes. "I can't just stand by and watch you die, Lord Rahl."

"Cara, please." Her tears broke through to him like nothing else could. He had never seen her so upset before. He walked towards her and reached out, taking her small, gloved hand in his bare ones. "You have to."

"Are you ordering me to?" The thought had crossed his mind to stand up straight with all the weight of his new title, and order her as Lord Rahl to let him perish. But he couldn't do that to her. Not after all this time.

"No," he said softly. "I'm asking you, Cara, as my friend, to understand why I have to do this. The Keeper has Kahlan, and if she dies…" His voice wobbled, but he kept going. "If she dies, the world dies with her." He no longer meant only the utter devastation he would feel where he used to have a beating heart, but the destruction of all life promised in the prophecy. That was coming too. He believed.

"I have to die, Cara, and I don't know if I get to come back. All I know is it's the only chance we have… Don't stop me. Please."

A tear trickled down Cara's cheek, and he brushed it away for her. She nodded once in stony silence. Richard squeezed her hand and let go, lifting his sword once more as she turned away. She wrapped her arms tight around herself and gave him her back. He drew a deep cut along his left arm, turning the blade to bathe it in the blood that came bubbling out of the wound. The words from the book played over in his mind. He had to get this exactly right. He was so focused on what he had to do that he barely noticed the throbbing of his wounded arm. It would be nothing to what came next anyways.

With the bloodied blade, he began to trace the Grace on the flattest patch of broken ground he could find. He worked quickly, drawing the shape in reverse, beginning with the outermost circle. Blood still trickled down his arm as he worked, carving red grooves in the blackened earth. He slowed as he reached the final lines of the star. So far, he felt nothing. No deadly magic to earn the Fatal Grace its name. He looked up to find Cara had at last turned back to face him. Her Agiels were out.

"No one will touch your body," she said in a low, hoarse voice. "They will die if they so much as try."

So she would stand guard over his corpse. It was a strange and much needed comfort. "Thank you, Cara," he said, and closed the final point in the Fatal Grace.

He straightened up at the very center of the enormous red star, glistening rings of his own blood extending around him. He felt the change instantly. There was a mad, rushing, buzzing sound like a swarm of hornets unleashed, but much, much louder than any swarm he'd ever heard. And there were no insects here in this charred and desolate place. It was the magic come to claim him and tear him apart, and he had to die before it could.

Already his skin tingled with a curious warmth that grew hotter and hotter. It left no time for thought. Richard flipped his sword in his hands so the tip pressed against his stomach, fingers curled tight to keep them from trembling. The buzzing grew louder, and his skin burned hotter as if the sound crawled all over him, leaking inside his ears and down his throat. He locked eyes with Cara. "Goodbye," he whispered and thrust upward into the soft, yielding flesh of his midsection as hard as he could.

The pain was wild and instantaneous, and he dropped to his knees. His hands were a slick, shiny red. He opened his mouth to groan, and something warm and metallic tasting bubbled out. He was vaguely aware that it was his own blood. All around him, Richard could still hear the buzzing, but it was muted now.

Four Cara's wavered in front of him, exchanging places again and again, as if performing some strange and joyless dance. And strangest of all, in the silence of his mind he heard the voice of the old librarian back in the snowbound city, speaking to him of the Creator and sacrifice. He tried to follow what she said, but it was too much. His fingers slipped against the cold steel in his belly, and blackness came rushing at him like a flock of ravens taking wing and he saw no more.


	38. Kept

**XXXVIII. KEPT**

He shuddered into himself like waking from a nightmare in one brutal jolt, his eyes slamming open. Richard quaked and clutched at the place where the sword had skewered his belly. He found only flesh, smooth and unmarred. The blade was gone. Still breathing too hard, his reluctant senses began to focus. He was naked, and his skin felt strangely slick, as if he'd been coated head to toe in oil. The air was thick with a strong, unpleasant odor that reminded him of mold and sweat.

He felt the naked limbs of others pressed heavy against him, and slowly sat up, pushing a stranger's calf from his chest. All around him were piled bodies in the thousands, each one caught in some unending expression of unbearable anguish. Near him, a man was screaming violently while he clawed at the air with gnarled toes, his head bent back at an angle that should have snapped his neck. Opposite him another sat ripping out his own hair by the handful, and casting the clumps away with a pitiful wail. Even as he did so, fresh hairs sprouted on his pale, green scalp, growing back impossibly fast only to be torn out again. Everywhere Richard looked, it was the same. More souls, more private, brutal pain. Though they were thrown together in a living knot, not one acknowledged his neighbors.

Whatever it was that trapped the others, Richard felt nothing. He realized with dull wonder that the Fatal Grace had worked just as the black book had promised, for he extricated himself from the bodies around him and stood quite easily. He was in the midst of an enormous pit. The light was poor and tinted green; it seemed to seep in from everywhere and nowhere. In the distance he could just make out rough walls of blackened rock rising impossibly high. There was nowhere to step that was not covered with a layer of the writhing dead. Richard picked his way around the bodies as best he could, but they thrashed against him without warning, and he often stepped on an errant foot or hand. Even then, no one reacted. No one came to stop him.

He studied the bodies in the pit as he walked, searching for any sign of Kahlan, but he didn't truly expect to find her hidden there among the masses. If she were, she was already dead, and that could not be possible. Richard focused on moving faster, forcing his way towards the rocky wall of the cavern. The only way to go was up. Kahlan had entered the Underworld on foot; she had to be closer to the surface than he was.

He began scaling the steep side of the pit as soon as he found a place with a handhold. It was rough going with little purchase, his skin scraping against the unforgiving stone. He almost fell twice, catching himself just in time. The bodies below were growing smaller and smaller whenever he dared to glance down, but he pushed away his fear. Surely he couldn't die twice.

He was about halfway up when he heard it – a woman's voice screaming somewhere far above him. It barely sounded human it was so wretched in its misery, so tortured into something primal that every muscle in his body tensed, and he clung to the nearly vertical rock and listened to the woman wail, thrown straight back into his own memories of torture under the blistering pain of the Agiel.

There was an urgency to the screaming, a frantic quality that the souls below had lacked for all their incessant weeping. This sounded like the cry of the dying, not the dead.

"Kahlan…" He mouthed her name, and then he was moving again, reaching up and up and up until his arms burned with the effort, and he could barely see for the sweat in his eyes. He was panting hard when his hand reached the very top of the cliff, and he began the slow, tortuous process of hauling his body over. It felt like the tendons in his body were tearing in two. His muscles burned the way his skin had inside the Fatal Grace.

With a loud groan, he heaved himself up at last onto the ledge and collapsed flat on his back, chest heaving, staring up at the infinite darkness above him. When he could, he got to his knees, and then he could see how very far he'd come. Down below in the mouth of the pit, the dead looked no bigger than nightwisps. Their cries were faint now and hard to hear, but the woman he swore was Kahlan shrieked again, her cry echoing painfully in the cavern. It brought him to his feet, and then he was running wildly towards the sound, shouting her name.

It seemed too great a gift to find her now after searching so long and desperately, but the closer he got to the screaming, the more certain he became. That voice could only be Kahlan's. And then he caught sight of her through the gloom, a crumpled figure lying defeated on the ground. Pacing an endless circle around her was the spirit of his brother.

"Get away from her," he roared though Rahl in fact stood several paces back, and he had no way to enforce his words. Still, Rahl paused and looked up, astonishment flashing across his face as Richard came running at him.

A moment later, his surprise gave way to a twisted smirk, and Rahl waved his hand. Immediately fire erupted from the ground, and Richard stopped short, green flames rising before him. They stretched as far as he could see in either direction; there was no way around them. And when he looked up, he could see the tongues of flames licking the very roof of the cavern. Kahlan's screams still filtered through, but he could not catch so much as a glimpse of her through the wall of dancing flame. He remembered the scholar's words in the black book; the fires of the Underworld could not harm him. He had no option either way. He was already dead.

Bracing himself, Richard stepped forward, drawing near to the flames. He felt nothing; no warmth, no pain. And then he kept going until he was wreathed in flame of brightest green. One step, then another, and then he was through. The astonishment on Rahl's face doubled. Richard ignored him, rushing towards Kahlan and dropping to his knees beside her. Her eyes were open, but she seemed not to see him. There was no color left in her face, and the bottom half of her dress was drenched in blood. She clutched and clawed violently at the rocks, the skin on her fingertips shredded like red ribbons. He realized then by the way she shook and groaned that she was in labor.

"Kahlan," he cried, but it was as if she didn't hear him at all. She kept screaming. He glared over his shoulder at his brother. "What are you doing to her?"

Rahl chuckled. "She does this to herself."

And then he was closer than before, though Richard couldn't recall seeing him move. Rahl knelt down beside him in his red velvet robes, and slipped an arm around him, pulling him back. His hands were too strong and too cold, his voice a velvety whisper of _'Come with me, come with me.'_

Everything before him faded away in a slow roll, gray and gone and he was all alone. Richard staggered to his feet. For a moment, he saw Kahlan standing upright, whole and no longer with child, but slim and strong once more. She was weeping and calling his name, but when he shouted back that he was here, he was right here, she ignored him. He ran to her, and she disappeared, the swath of gray nothing coming back.

He searched the void a long time, walking here and there until his feet bled, calling for her in every corner of the mist. She appeared again as suddenly as she had vanished, this time right before him. She lay at his feet, naked and weeping while Rahl writhed on top of her, pinning her down and pressing rough, unwelcome kisses to the slender curve of her neck. Fury and horror filled him, but when he bent down to pull Rahl off her, his hands closed tight around nothing. The gray had rolled in again, and she was gone.

He wandered another day, another lifetime. Richard could not say with any certainty which it was; time had ceased to have any meaning. All he knew was that he must find her. Every frantic heartbeat was one spent searching until he glimpsed her dark hair like a flag in the distance. She'd been dropped into the pit of writing bodies where he'd first awoken, but the men had been shaken from their private nightmares to torment her. They came upon her in a mob, tugging on her hair and her dress, forcing her legs apart while she twisted and shrieked and screamed his name, always his name. He ran for her through the crowded, reeking pit, shoving men bodily out of the way. But for every step he took, she moved forward twice as much, passed from man to man, and still he could not reach her.

Eventually her screams faded and she fell still, fighting no longer as man after man had his way with her. He remembered when she'd done the same beneath him, and he felt ill.

He could not relive that nightmare again. The thought hit him hard like a slap, and Richard froze. A nightmare. He could not explain to himself how he knew, just that he did. This was a nightmare, and he had to wake up. Though there was still a man on top of Kahlan, he turned his back on her. Heart pounding wildly, he started for the gray mists.

They seemed to stretch forever, but almost immediately they began to grow thinner, and he saw a faint glimmer of green. He raced towards it, only to find himself still kneeling beside Rahl, and staring stupidly down at the ground. Kahlan lay before him, still swollen with child, as oblivious to his presence as she was to the horrors he'd just witnessed.

Richard looked at his brother, and though Rahl tried to hide it, he could tell he wasn't supposed to have been able to escape the visions. "Let go of me," he snarled, wrenching his arm free.

Rahl lifted his shoulder in a delicate shrug. "Go to her then. It makes no difference. Whatever spell you're using will not last long down here. Nothing does."

Richard tried not to think of how true that was. When dawn came, he would die in earnest. He would be of no more help to Kahlan than the thousands of dead souls caught in the Keeper's pits. He wondered how much time he'd wasted drifting through the nightmares Rahl had sent him.

He clambered forward on his knees, desperate to reach her at last. Still, he slowed when he neared her, unsure of what would happen when the dead tried to touch the living, but his fingers found the soft skin of her cheek easily enough. Kahlan blinked, her eyes rolling his way for the first time, and she seemed to finally register his presence. Her mouth gaped as if she meant to speak, but no words came out.

"It's all right," he soothed, leaning closer. "I'm here."

"Richard?" Her voice was a tiny, tremulous thing. "Are you real?"

"Yes, yes, I'm real," he soothed, easing her into his arms. "Shhh, I'm here. It's me."

She pressed her face against him and let out a wretched sob. "You came," she whispered, so soft he barely heard it.

"Always." He smoothed back her sweat soaked hair, pressing his hand to her brow. Her skin was cold as ice to the touch; her eyes were glassy. Tears pricked his eyes as he realized she was dying. "I have to get you out of here," he said, trying to slide an arm beneath her. He had to get her back to Zedd.

"No," she choked out. "Too late."

He hesitated at her words, looking up through the green gloom. He saw no path to the world above.

"Kahlan's quite right," said Rahl, smiling down at them. "There's no longer any way out. I've seen to that. She will die soon, but you can spare her soul the fate you saw if you deliver the child."

At his words, Kahlan thrashed and cried out. Her hands clutched at her belly, her shoulders curling off the ground. She tried to speak, but a grunt turned into an anguished wail, and she clutched at her belly, her shoulders curling off the ground. Her nostrils flared from breathing wild and irregular.

"Even now, she's trying to push out the child, but she's too weak. The effort is killing her." Rahl seated himself on a nearby rock, smoothing out the folds in his red robes. "Help her, and you can have her," he said with a shrug. "The Keeper only wants the child. Once she is born, I will open up the rift, and Kahlan can be carried back up if you prefer. Perhaps it will even be in time to spare her life."

Richard trusted nothing Rahl told him, but he nodded as if considering his words. It was obvious Kahlan's labor was far advanced. He wondered if their daughter was stuck in the birth channel, with Kahlan left to bleed and labor to no end.

He rested a hand on her taut belly. If the child was stuck, he didn't understand why Rahl had done nothing to force it out. Surely if he could touch Kahlan despite being dead, then so could his brother, and yet Rahl hung back. It made no sense.

Kahlan was looking up at him with panicked eyes. It would be too much for her even to stand. He hadn't realized how hopeless it truly was until now. Their only chance would be in somehow convincing Rahl to reopen the rift. He leaned closer; he would have to make him think he was playing along.

"Kahlan," he urged. "Talk to me. How's the baby?"

Kahlan shook her head. Slowly she reached for him with a trembling hand. Her fingers found his cheek and pressed against it, skin sliding against skin. Her whole body never for a moment ceased trembling. Her eyes pooled with tears, and she opened her mouth twice before she managed a sound. Her voice was a hoarse, forgotten little thing. "Forgive me."

"What?" Richard blinked. "Why?" Her hand moved in answer, slipping down his face until her fingers wrapped around his throat. And then all he could see was her blue eyes going black, opening up like an abyss below him. A resounding crack filled the air, as if all his bones were splintering. Her hand on his throat pulled him down into the rushing blackness of the Mother Confessor's eyes, and he could not help but fall in.


	39. Deliverance

**XXXIX. DELIVERANCE**

Richard remembered this. It had happened before. The all consuming sensation of being filled by a mind, an essence, a life other than his own. He could not move. He could only stand there as it poured through him, filling the spaces in his mind, pumping through his veins along with his blood. He had felt fear the last time this had happened, fear that was swiftly obliterated by mindless adoration. He could not feel fear now. Not when the _Other_ pouring through him was Kahlan. He breathed in deeper, resisting nothing. If there was a better way to love her, he would gladly learn it.

He hid nothing from her. Before, the struggle to cling to who he was, even as he'd felt it being ripped away by Annabelle, had been as reflexive as it had been futile. And yet this time, nothing. There was no desire to fight back. Her magic was like a warm embrace, filling him with a sensation of love as if she held him in her arms. It was absolute, he had never known her more fully, and then it was over. The magic bled from him, and he stared down at her, her head cradled in his lap, her eyes blue once more. Tears trickled freely down her cheeks.

"No," cried Rahl. He came closer as if to tear them apart, only to stop a few steps back, his eyes blazing. Richard glanced his way, vaguely aware that something was odd about that, but unable to think on it further. He was still too stunned; Kahlan had tried to confess him.

He knew beyond all doubt that it hadn't worked. His memories of the days spent as Annabelle's puppet were too vivid to allow for any confusion. But Kahlan hadn't noticed. She was using him for leverage, reaching out desperately for something. He leaned with her instinctively, helping her, and a moment later, she was pressing the cold weight of a dacra into his hand.

Richard looked down at the weapon, then back at her. "What?" he said, uncomprehending.

She struggled to speak, her voice coming out faint but determined. "Kill me." She curled his fingers around the dacra, guiding him down to her belly. "And the baby. You have to kill us both."

Disbelief washed over him. "No." He pulled his hand from hers and let the dacra clatter to the ground. "I won't."

Kahlan's mouth gaped open. "You have to," she stammered. "You're confessed! You can't refuse me!"

"It didn't work, Kahlan."

"Indeed," Rahl interjected, peering down at them. "That is curious."

"But…" She blinked, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. He could tell this was too much for her to process at the moment. "You have to," she trembled, panting hard. The dark circles beneath her eyes had tinged a sickly shade of green. She clutched at him with both hands. "Kill me," she begged. "Kill me. Kill me, please, kill me." It was like a chant, and over and over she mumbled it.

"No," he said, running his fingers through her tangled hair, as he listened to her weep and beg for death. It hurt far more to hear her than it had to die with the Sword of Truth buried in his belly.

He glanced up at Rahl. Although he had returned to his perch on the rock, there was a new alertness about him, a sudden tension to the way he sat and how he tracked them with his eyes. Richard frowned. It was almost as if his brother feared he'd do as Kahlan asked. But the prophecy promised that her death would play right into the Keeper's hands. He ran over the words again in his mind. The child. Kahlan had insisted he kill the child too. That had to be the explanation. The Keeper needed their daughter alive.

And yet Rahl did nothing to gain the infant. The hairs on the back of Richard's neck prickled, giving him a niggling, uneasy feeling. There was something he was missing, and perhaps if he could just figure it out, he'd have a chance of saving Kahlan.

He glanced down at her again. She was no longer agitated, but lay limply in his lap, her eyes closed. It had taken her last reserves of strength to confess him. She mumbled now and then, as if in a fitful sleep, and always her words were begging for her death. He thought of the thousands of souls in the Keeper's pits, and the visions he had seen. Of one thing he was certain; her suffering would not end with death.

Blood still spread beneath her. His own hands were sticky with it. He had no doubt that their daughter would soon die inside her if nothing changed. If Rahl wanted the child so desperately, he ought to simply carve it out of her, stabbing her in the belly like countless banelings had to mothers throughout the Midlands. There was no reason not to; it was obvious Rahl was untroubled by her pain.

Unless he could not touch her. The thought came to him unbidden, and Richard knew not what to make of it. He was dead too, and he could touch her. Except that wasn't quite true. He wasn't wholly dead. Not yet. He was in some strange limbo, caught between realms, unburned by the Keeper's fire, free to walk away from the visions Rahl sent him. He was not fully of the Underworld the way Rahl was. And Kahlan… He pressed a hand against her enormous belly; she had never been so literally filled with life before. Perhaps the two could not touch, could not meet. Life incompatible with death. It made sense.

Richard rocked back on his heels. He would have to gamble. "You want me to deliver the child, and give it to the Keeper?"

"You must." Rahl leaned forward, blue eyes boring into him. "Don't you want her to live?"

"A life at the Keeper's mercy?"

"As her death will be if she dies. Only then there will be no end to her young soul's torment. Deliver the child, and spare them both the eternity of suffering that otherwise awaits them."

"And what will the Keeper do with my daughter if I give her to him?" He wondered if Rahl could even hear him over the sound of his pounding heart. And then he wondered how it was he heard it beating, when his real heart lay still inside his corpse, somewhere high overhead.

But Rahl just smiled and went on, apparently pleased that he was asking. "The Keeper, in his infinite wisdom, will use her to bring about a new world order. Her will and his shall be fused, to become one and the same. And through her unique…talent, every soul shall share the Keeper's desires. Even the most fervent supporters of the Creator will come to love him instead in their deaths. The Underworld will spread to the realm of life until there is no above and below. He will be all that remains."

So the Keeper wanted to turn their child into a monster, an abomination. Richard understood now why Kahlan had pushed the dacra into his hand and begged for death.

"If I do this," he said, trying to ignore how Kahlan's eyes fluttered open to stare up at him in wild panic. "Will Kahlan and my daughter suffer?"

"No. This is the only way you can buy them any measure of peace. You must do this, brother."

Richard hesitated a moment and then nodded. "All right. I'll do it."

Kahlan shifted in his lap, her fear giving her strength. "No," she said in a hoarse voice. "You must kill her. Please, Richard. Please." Her lower lip trembled and tears streamed down her cheeks.

He cradled her face in his hands, wiping away tearstains with his thumbs. "Trust me." He hoped his words conveyed to her that he was doing more than simply caving to Rahl's demands, but he couldn't waver. Rahl had to believe him, or this would never work. He forced himself to look away from her and say in a grim, determined voice, "This is for the best."

Carefully he settled Kahlan's head back on the ground and leaned over her. "I need you to help me hold her," he called to Rahl, trying to keep his nerves from his voice. If he came over and took hold of Kahlan without difficulty, then his whole gamble was lost, and the Keeper had won. He stared at Kahlan's belly and waited for his answer.

Rahl didn't move. "This is your task to complete, not mine." His voice was one of practiced nonchalance, but Richard felt a faint glimmer of hope. Surely their daughter was too important for Rahl to sit idly by as she came near to perishing unless he had no choice. He really couldn't touch her.

Richard nodded, schooling his face to look forlorn. He had to get the rift open before he went any further. "I can't," he murmured, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I can't, I can't do this."

"Sure you can, Richard," wheedled Rahl. Richard kept rocking and muttering to himself. "You know what must be done. Now pick up that dacra, and help the child out any way you can."

Richard swallowed the shudder of horror that passed through him and picked up the blade. He held it in a shaking hand and whirled around to look at Rahl, keeping his body curled tight. "Open the rift," he hissed, putting all the madness he could muster into his voice.

Rahl laughed. "Not until the child is born."

Richard only shouted louder. "I said, open the rift! You want me to give my firstborn to the Keeper? Then you give me a sign. Open the rift! Show me where I get to carry what's left of the woman I love when this is through."

Rahl stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Why should I listen to you?"

He pressed the blade against Kahlan's belly and held it steady. "Because if you don't, I'll do as Kahlan asks and kill them both." He was no longer sure himself if he was bluffing. He hoped he never had to find out.

Rahl said nothing. He looked at him a long time, blue eyes like glass, and then the air filled with a low, groaning sound like the rending of rock. A jagged break appeared far away in the cavern wall, running about as high as a man. The ground trembled as it widened, letting in a dim glow that told him dawn was fast approaching. And then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped. Richard was left staring at a narrow chasm in the rock, perhaps just wide enough for a person to slip through. He glanced down at Kahlan's swollen belly. It would have to be big enough.

"Get on with it or the rift closes back up," said Rahl in a cold, oily voice. He still stood several paces back from Kahlan, and seemed to have no intention of coming closer. Richard nodded several times, trying to keep any hint of a plan from showing on his face.

He had to get the two of them to touch. He had no idea what would happen when they did, but it was his only chance. There had to be a reason Rahl refused to be near her. Kahlan was so full of new life, perhaps the Creator could somehow act through her. And if that failed, he would use the dacra to end her life and their daughter's. Cara was forbidden from reviving him before Kahlan's return, and so he would stay dead and join them in their suffering in the Underworld. At least the world would be safe. He looked down at Kahlan's sweat streaked face. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, her eyes now closed, her lips blue, and he wondered if he would have the strength to do as she'd asked after all.

"Hurry up, Seeker," called Rahl in a taunting, singsong voice.

Richard looked around desperately. He needed an excuse to lift her. "I'm going to move her to that flat rock," he declared, gesturing to a large, flattened stone to the left and a little behind Rahl. It would allow him to pass near his brother. "It'll be easier to get at the baby there," he said, hoping the explanation sounded plausible.

Rahl just sat waiting, a look of mild irritation on his face as Richard bent and hefted Kahlan in his arms. Her gown was heavy with blood and she went limp in his grasp, her head lolling against his chest.

"I love you, Kahlan." He bowed his head forward so he was talking into her ear. "I'm sorry. I love you so much." He lowered his voice, hoping Rahl would think he was still just whispering his love for her in her ear. "I don't know if you can hear me, Kahlan, but I need you to listen if you can. Don't move; save your strength. I have a plan, but I need you to touch Rahl. Just touch him. Our baby, she needs you to do this. When I squeeze your arm, he'll be right there. You reach out and touch him." He kissed the top of her head and straightened up to better watch his steps. He thought she stirred slightly, but beyond that she gave no sign of having heard him.

Slowly they moved closer to Rahl, step by step. A tear ran down his cheek. His arms burned with the effort of carrying Kahlan's dead weight across the uneven stones. Rahl waited there, oblivious, his fingers tracing idle patterns over the red velvet of his robes. When he reached where his brother sat, Richard stopped and turned to face him. "Don't do this to us," he begged. "Please, let us go."

It was as he'd hoped. The temptation to gloat was too much for Rahl to pass up. He got to his feet, bringing himself that much closer to Kahlan's dangling arm. "I offered you the chance to hand her over before. I warned you waiting would only make it worse. The prophecy promises the Keeper will have them both in the end." Richard remembered the night Rahl had visited him in his sleep. He'd been so mad at the prophecy. At Zedd, at everything. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"That's not all the prophecy says." Richard tightened his grip on Kahlan, curling his fingers around her shoulder and squeezing hard. He waited. A moment seemed to stretch and fill a thousand lifetimes. He prayed that she would wake up and save him from murder. And then without warning, she stirred in his arms.

Her head lifted and her arm reached out with all the deadly speed of a Confessor moving for her prey.

Rahl's eyes widened, but her palm was already pressed against the red velvet covering his chest. His head flung back, and he let out an agonizing scream. All around Kahlan's hand, the fabric of his robes burned away, consumed by flames as white as the Underworld was green. They spread across his skin as he shook violently.

Kahlan's hand fell away, spent even from that small exertion, and Richard saw for a moment, there upon his brother's chest, a mark rather like the one he bore. Only this was a woman's hand, and the small, slender fingers left a mark that burned brightest white against his flesh. Richard thought of an old woman sweeping up secrets and cobwebs with withered hands, and a young mother's grasping fingers, reaching out with all she had to save her child. This woman's wrath upon a monster's chest. Mark of the Creator. The white flames rippled, Rahl caught screaming inside them, and then, in a white flash of fury, he was gone. The cavern echoed his screams, and the light faded fast.

Richard looked down at Kahlan; her eyes were open, looking back. "You did it," he said.

She gave a slight shake of her head. "Not me." And then she went limp in his arms again, drawing in desperately faint, shallow breaths.

He took off at a run. The crack in the Underworld was so far away, and he barreled towards it, clutching Kahlan to his chest. "Hold on," he pleaded. "Just a little bit longer."

The closer he got, the slower he ran. It felt as if the air had thickened, and he was pushing headlong against an invisible barrier. His heart pounded wildly. He struggled forward step by step. The Underworld was claiming him at last; it would not release him to the world above. He looked down at Kahlan helpless in his arms, and by sheer will alone, he kept moving forward. If he set her down, she would die where he put her. At this point, he knew she could not so much as crawl.

At last, he reached the rough wall of the Underworld. The jagged crack to freedom loomed before him. It ran narrow and long. Richard paused a moment, gathering strength. He did not know what would happen when he attempted to set foot in the world of life, but he had to try.

Slowly he lifted his foot and struggled to bring it forward, but it would not move any farther. Not even a hair's breadth. He was trapped. Despite himself, he let out a sob of defeat and sunk to his knees, cradling Kahlan in his arms as he began to weep.

And then through the gloom, he heard a familiar voice call. "Richard? Is that you?"

He straightened up, crying back, "Cara? I'm here." He clutched at Kahlan. "We're here! Can you follow my voice? Cara?"

"Richard! We're coming."

There was a scuffle of footsteps, and then two figures appeared, squeezing their way through the tunnel. He watched bewildered as Zedd and Cara moved towards him through the foul green fog. Their clothes were ragged and streaked with black dirt.

"We heard the rift opening up," said Cara. "We've been searching for the opening everywhere. It's almost dawn!"

Richard ignored her implied warning, turning to Zedd. He wondered how his grandfather had found Cara, but time to ask was a luxury he didn't have. "Kahlan," he choked out. "She was in labor, but I think it stopped… I don't, I don't know." Another tear ran down his cheek. "You have to help her. She's…she's dying, and I can't carry her any farther. This place won't let me."

"Give her here, my boy," said Zedd, stepping into the Underworld, and lifting Kahlan in her bloody dress up out of his arms, leaving him empty and naked and alone.

"Get her out of here," he begged. Zedd nodded solemnly.

"I'm giving you the breath of life now!" called Cara, already sprinting back through the rift before the wizard. "The sun's almost up."

He nodded. "Just take care of Kahlan," he pleaded. Zedd nodded once more, and then he too turned and edged through the narrow opening in the rock.

Richard slipped back from the rift. Already he could feel the Underworld tugging him towards the pit where he'd first awakened. His time was almost up. Soon, so soon, his body would be torn to bits at the very center of the Fatal Grace. He wondered how fast Cara could run, and settled down on a rocky ledge to wait for his answer.


	40. Daybreak

**XL. DAYBREAK**

Richard breathed in sharply and opened his eyes. A moment ago he'd been sitting on a rock, watching green plumes of flame dancing in the Underworld, but now Cara was looming over him, her hair in his face. An awful pain throbbed in his belly, but it lessened some as he breathed in again. He was lying flat on his back, the sky a wash of crimson above him, like spilled blood over the black cliffs of the rift. A scarlet sun was just appearing over the horizon. He was alive. He bolted upright, nearly knocking foreheads with Cara.

His shirt was stiff with his blood, the Sword of Truth encrusted with more of the same. He shoved it back into the scabbard filthy. There was no time to clean it now.

As he staggered to his feet, he saw that the lines of the Fatal Grace had been smudged and broken almost beyond recognition. "Zedd told me to do that before I woke you," explained Cara, following his gaze. "Otherwise the magic would still be intact." Richard nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for his grandfather's wisdom.

He scanned the rugged cliffs. "Where are they?"

"This way." She took off at a run, tugging him forward by the hand. He felt clumsy and slow, his body still shaking off death as he stumbled after her. "Zedd set her down as soon as he got out of the rift." The sooner to heal her, Richard thought, trying not to dwell on how close to death Kahlan had been. How close she might still be.

Soon he spotted them; Zedd kneeling over Kahlan, his hands pressed to her belly. She lay on her back, blinking weakly up at the blood red morning. Richard dropped to his knees so swiftly he could feel a rock tear a hole in the fabric of his breeches. "Kahlan," he said, easing her head up to rest in his lap.

"Richard…" Her voice was faint, but she grabbed at his hand, her fingers weaving with his.

"How is she?" he asked Zedd.

The old wizard shook his head. "She's awake, but the rest of it will have to wait if you want to try and save the child. It needs to come out now."

Richard wanted to ask what all the rest was, and what it meant for Kahlan. If he could only keep one of them, spirits forgive him, but he'd choose Kahlan. But she was already speaking. "Save her, Zedd. Whatever you have to do to me, save her. If she dies, it's all my fault. It's all my fault."

"It's not your fault," said Richard, but she seemed not to hear him. Her face was slick with tears.

Zedd nodded, repositioning his hands over the fullness of her belly. "Then I'm going to restart your labor, dear one. Cara, get between her legs. Rip her skirts so you can catch the child." Cara nodded gravely, as if she'd just been assigned to a mission of deadly importance.

"I'll help you push the child out with my gift," he continued, "but give it all you have. She needs out now."

Kahlan nodded, her eyes bright with fear as Zedd began chanting softly, gnarled fingers dancing over her womb. A moment later, her head fell back against Richard's chest, and she let out a low groan. She was breathing hard, and beads of sweat dotted her brow, as if she'd been thrown headlong back into the throes of labor. And he realized that was exactly what had been done to her. Her nails dug into his hand as she pressed against him, nearly lifting herself off the ground.

"That's it. Help her to stand," said Zedd, never taking his gaze from Kahlan's belly, a faraway look in his eyes. The air tingled with the steady current of magic he was applying to help the child out. "Get her to bend her knees and squat. The babe will come easier that way. You'll have to hold her up." He heard what Zedd didn't say; she still lacked the strength to move on her own.

Richard did as he was told; hoisting her up and helping her bend her knees. He held her to him, feeling every tremor of her body through his own. Kahlan cried out and grappled with his hands, groaning as she curled forward over her belly. A harsh, primal grunt escaped her, and Richard could no longer feel his hands, but Zedd nodded, encouraging.

"That's it. That's good, Kahlan. Keep breathing."

She grunted again, her knees bent deep, nostrils flaring. Her neck was slick with sweat. "You can do this," Richard murmured right against her skin. "I know you can."

Kahlan groaned and cried out, her whole body heaving with the effort. The air crackled with the magic Zedd was using to draw the child down, out of its exhausted mother. He could tell by the look of intense concentration in his grandfather's eyes that it was no small feat. But in the end, it happened rather quickly after so long a wait, such a time of suffering.

Kahlan gave one last, wild cry, and the child came slipping into Cara's outstretched hands, a tiny, messy, lifeless thing. It didn't move, and Richard sunk to the ground in the silence, cradling Kahlan in his arms.

He stared at the bloody infant, her hands clenched in tight fists, resting limply against her tiny chest. "Is she dead?" It was Kahlan speaking, her voice faint and tremulous. Richard clutched her to him. It would be okay. Cara would bring her back if she were gone. Cara would bring her back…

"No," said Zedd, and already he was taking the babe from Cara. She fit in just one of his large, weathered hands. "Not yet." He pressed a finger to her chest and resumed chanting, his voice taking on a different, more desperate cadence than it'd had before.

"Save her," Kahlan wailed in a tone as if her own soul had come unhinged. "Please, Zedd, you have to save my baby, my…" And then she was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking like a storm against his chest. Richard wrapped his arms around her and tried to contain her grief, but it was a force like he had never felt before, and it broke against him again and again. He knew there was the afterbirth to see to, but he could not think. He could only hold Kahlan and stare at the motionless body of their newborn child resting in his grandfather's ancient hand.

Eventually Kahlan stopped sobbing and stilled, sinking down until her head was a heavy weight in his lap. Tears swam in his eyes, and it seemed for the longest time that no one breathed, until Zedd lifted his finger and the tiny chest rose sharply as if in response.

The infant squirmed in his hands, miniature mouth opening to let out a sudden, strong cry. Richard laughed then, clutching at Kahlan's tangled, sweaty hair. Above them the sky was still ruby red with dawn. Zedd couldn't have worked on their daughter for more than a few minutes, but it felt as if he'd knelt before her all throughout the longest year of his life. "Kahlan," he said, still laughing. "She's alive." His daughter was alive, and she was glorious. He was a father.

"Alive?" Kahlan echoed in a soft, tired voice, and Richard nodded, reaching out to take the infant from Zedd. He cradled her in the crook of his arm, taking in all ten of her tiny toes, no bigger than dew drops. They had made her, Kahlan and him, this red, wrinkled, perfect person. Her hair was a dark brown mess, and her eyes when they slit open were so dark and stormy he could not tell their color.

"Hello," he crooned in a voice full of wonder. "Kahlan, say hello. Look at her." But before she could answer, the spindly fingers of one little fist began to uncurl like petals on a flower. There at the very center of the baby's palm lay a minuscule stone, red as blood. It was shaped like a teardrop and just as small.

"Spirits," whispered Richard, plucking it from his daughter's palm with the hand that wasn't holding her. "It's the Stone of Tears." He stared at it in awe, feeling how it warmed in his palm like a living thing. Slowly it began to swell, growing in size until it fit his palm perfectly.

"So it is," said Zedd. "Amazing… Nowhere is the power of the Creator stronger than in the creation of new life." Richard nodded vaguely, still staring at the stone. He recognized it now. It matched the illustration on the opening page of the black book of Ashkari perfectly.

"No wonder we never found it," Cara snorted. "It was with us all along."

"No," murmured Richard. "The Stone of Tears cannot be found. Only earned." He wondered what they had done down in the forsaken depths of the Underworld to earn it. He turned it over in his palm, rubbing his thumb across the stone. It was perfectly smooth until he met a row of bumpy ridges. "There's an inscription," he said, studying it more closely. It was engraved in that strange language meant for the Seeker's eyes alone, and as he stared at the senseless markings, words appeared in his mind. "_I weep for the voiceless_," he read aloud. "That's what it says. Kahlan, what do you think of that?"

She didn't answer. He looked down to where her head rested in his lap. Her eyes were closed, and she lay motionless. "Kahlan?" The stone slipped from his grasp, and he was barely aware of handing his daughter to Cara before he pulled Kahlan to him and shook her. "Kahlan? Kahlan, wake up!" Her head lolled against his chest.

Glancing down, he saw a pool of blood spreading beneath her, red as the rising sun. "Zedd," he cried out, though his grandfather still looked weary from the effort he'd spent healing their child. "Help her!" He cursed himself for letting the stone distract him from Kahlan for even a moment. The wizard had already leapt to the task, his hands hovering over her once more.

When Zedd looked up, his eyes were grim. "This is right on the edge of my skill to heal."

"Cara, Cara will bring her back if she…"

But Zedd was shaking his head. "No. This is not a simple stab wound or too harsh a beating from an Agiel. This damage is deep within her. I shouldn't have let this linger. There is a darkness in her blood I have never felt before." His voice gave a faint tremble, but he went on. "Cara's talents cannot save her, Richard. She would only bring her back into this body to die again."

"No," he choked out.

"I will still try," said Cara, but he barely heard her. He felt his heart breaking open. This could not be the sacrifice the librarian had spoken of. He'd pay any other price, but not this one. Please, not this.

Zedd worked in silence as Cara held the baby in awkward hands, and Richard tugged at the ends of his hair, feeling as if he were going mad.

"Richard!" Cara's voice broke through his thoughts, his head jerking up at the urgency in her voice. She pointed, and he followed to where a swarm of banelings was running towards them, weapons glinting, over the charred and rocky cliffs.

"Creator have mercy," he heard Zedd mutter. There were hundreds coming, and with no end in sight. Cara passed him his fussing, squirming child and got to her feet. She pulled out her Agiels. The glint in her eyes told Richard she already understood that this was suicide. He could not bring himself to stop her, only nodding as she rose and took off running for the banelings. The baby wriggled in his arms, and Richard laid a hand against the sword at his hip. He would wait here to meet those who finally defeated her Agiels.

Then, before Cara had made it very far at all, the ground began to shake. Here and there it split open again in great, yawning chasms, tumbling down rock. Green smoke blossomed up out of the depths in thick plumes, and Richard made a desperate grab for the stone before it could roll away. It was as if the Keeper was making one last attempt to swallow them whole. Cara leaped boldly from rock to rock, avoiding the gaps. While here and there a baneling fell into a crevice, they kept coming closer like a wall of relentless, rushing doom. Overhead the red dawn darkened, and a crack of lightening split the sky. A spitting rain began to fall.

Carefully, Richard settled their daughter into the crook of Kahlan's arm. Perhaps her nearness would draw Kahlan back. The rain picked up and washed the infant clean.

Richard clutched the Stone of Tears and waited for the gathering storm to strike. If only he knew how to use the stone. "I weep for the voiceless," he murmured, looking down at Kahlan's white face. Kahlan was voiceless now, and if Zedd couldn't save her, she would forever remain that way. She would go down to join the unheard dead. Only he knew where they huddled, weeping and wailing to no end. And then he knew exactly where he needed to go. Back down to where every last tear went unheard, and all the souls were voiceless.

"I'm going into the rift," he said as he scrambled to his feet. "Stay with them."

Zedd looked up, magic still dancing wild in his eyes. "Richard, that's certain death!"

He'd faced death once already and lived to speak of it. "I must." He touched his daughter's cheek and squeezed Kahlan's lifeless hand, sparing time for only one word, "Live."

He took off at a run. Already the banelings had almost collided with Cara. He slipped over the rain wet rocks, keeping a tight grip on the stone as the earth shook beneath his feet. With one last breath of fresh air, he barreled back into the foul darkness of the rift.


	41. Live

**XLI. LIVE**

The ground shook violently as Richard ran, his feet finding little purchase. The Underworld was nearly as vibrant as the world above, with jets of green flame shooting up all around him, erupting out of the cracks in the rocks. Richard pushed himself as fast as he could go, remembering Cara's warning about the Underworld. He didn't enter with the aid of the Fatal Grace this time, and he wondered how soon it would start to age him, how much longer his feet would be able to carry him swift and sure over the trembling ground. The fires burned dangerously hot now, the smoke stinging his eyes and making him cough.

He stumbled then, tumbling forward as his knee weakened and gave out on him abruptly. As he thrust his hands out to catch himself, he saw they were turning wrinkled and weathered, more like Zedd's than his own.

Richard staggered to his feet, wheezing heavily. He forced himself to keep moving though he was fast growing dizzy, his head spinning. His only chance to stop the banelings lay with the stone.

The way to the pit was not as clear to him as before, but he pressed onward, dodging the fire with wearying feet. Whenever he passed a larger stone, he took hold of it a moment to regain his balance. Each time he did, he noticed more age spots on his hands.

When at last he made it past the bloodstained ground where Kahlan had lain, he felt a sense of relief mingled with sorrow at the sight. He was at least headed in the right direction. A few staggered steps later, and he heard it. The faint, drifting cry of misery of the thousands lost in the Keeper's pits.

His limbs were beginning to shake, his bones and body filled with a sense of frailty he'd never experienced before. It seemed he was brittle as dry leaves and about to break. When he touched his face, it felt like a web of wrinkles. What hair he had was thinning fast, and he was sure it was no longer brown but gray. The Underworld was growing blurry before his fading eyes even as he reached the edge of the cavernous pit. Far below, the bodies writhed like ants.

He could feel the stone warm in his weathered palm, as if responding to the cry of those trapped in torment by the Keeper. While he was pondering the best way down into the pit, a figure appeared before him robed in white, hovering over the abyss. Richard blinked, and as his eyes focused, he saw it was Kahlan floating there, back in her white Confessor's dress just as he'd first met her.

A shudder passed through him. "Kahlan?"

She smiled sadly. "Hello, Richard."

He shook his head. She couldn't be… "What are you doing here?"

"I died, Richard. Surely you knew I would."

"No…" He sunk to his knees at the edge of the cliff, his tears turning her into a blur.

"Yes," she said quietly, drifting towards him. "I belong to the Keeper now, and soon you will too." He stared up at her as she floated closer still like a vision on a cloud, a dream. Her gown was all of glimmering, pearly white, her sleeve fluttering as she stretched out her hand, palm up. "Give me the stone, and all of your suffering will end."

He heaved himself to his feet, drawing near to her. "It will?" His love was dead, and it hurt even to breathe. His heart seized up in his chest, and he thought of their newborn daughter now all alone, without mother or father.

"Yes," said Kahlan softly, drifting closer. "Just give me the stone, and the Keeper has promised we will not suffer. We will be together forever."

"What of our daughter?"

Kahlan shook her head. "She's no longer our concern. We can do nothing for her here."

He hesitated, the Stone of Tears still resting heavy in his hand. He remembered the desperate, wailing mother he'd held in his arms not an hour before. Surely she would do everything she could to send him back up into the world of life, back to their child, even if all he wanted was to curl up among the dust of the dead and forever sleep.

"The stone, Richard," she said again. Her voice was low and hypnotic, and it pulled him closer. "Give it to me, and then we can be happy." He did so want to be happy. To be with her. He edged his way forward on unsteady feet; his toes now even with the edge of the cliff.

"I love you, Richard," she said, her lower lip trembling.

"I love you too."

She nodded, her face splitting into a beautiful, warm smile meant just for him. "Give me the stone now," she said in a gentle voice. "It's time to die." Richard nodded. Slowly he lifted the stone, holding it out to her, a heavy red weight above her palm. The skin on his hand was paper thin now. He wondered if it would soon crumple to ash. "That's it," urged Kahlan. "Give me the stone, and you won't have to suffer anymore." He glanced down through the space between their hands, his bleary eyes focusing on the thousands below. Even now, with two there to act as witness, their weeping still went unheard. A pang of guilt shot through his chest as he listened to their ceaseless lament.

"And what of them?" he asked. "Will the Keeper spare them their suffering too? Will balance be restored, or is the peace only for us?"

She faltered then, her smile fading. "What does it matter, Richard? Do I mean nothing to you? You don't know what the Keeper will do to me if you don't give me the stone! Please, Richard, if you love me…"

_Kill me. And the baby. You have to kill us both._

Her voice was fresh in his mind, her blood still on his hands. "The woman I love would tell me to spare the masses and let her suffer," he croaked. "You're not my Kahlan."

He looked down at the bodies below him. His fingers had grown so feeble it was a struggle to keep hold of the stone. The glistening white Kahlan came lunging for him, hands outstretched, and he did the only thing he could think of. Clasping the stone to his chest, he pitched himself over the cliff and out of her reach. He hurtled toward the ground far below as she shrieked, the cavern echoing with her cry of "No!" It sounded to his ears as he fell to be somehow twisted and wrong, deeper than the voice he knew so well, and full of something cold and cruel.

Richard could see the writhing souls in the Keeper's pit growing larger. He clutched the stone, feeling it warm in his hands until it was so hot it should have burned him, yet he did not let go. He became aware of a rich, reddish glow spreading outward from between his fingers until it filled the whole cavern with a warm, wondrous glow. It filled him with a sense of peace like he had never known before, and he realized his fall had slowed, leaving him drifting softly toward the ground, buffeted by the rare and radiant light.

Looking down, he saw that the thousands of twisted, tormented figures were lifting their heads and gazing up, grimaces replaced by openmouthed astonishment as they cried out in awe to their neighbors. The light spread, shining on the face of every last soul cast into the Keeper's pit. The stone burned hotter still, and there in his hands it flared a brilliant, blinding white. His fingers slipped away as the light went rushing out in all directions, and he saw no more.

**xxx**

Richard awoke with a violent shiver. All was blackness, and he could not see. He felt small and alone, as naked as a newborn child. Without warning, a voice spoke in his ear. It was a woman's voice, at once both very young and very old.

"Live or die, Seeker. You choose."

He tried to turn towards it, to open his eyes, but he could not move. He formed the only word he could think of. "Kahlan…" Was she here too? Did she live?

"That is not for you to know, Seeker," answered the voice, so close it seemed inside his head. "I shall ask you again: live or die?" The voice breathed, and he was not so cold. She sounded fierce, yet not unkind.

For a long time, he could not answer. He thought of his beautiful daughter. He didn't know how to raise her if Kahlan had died. He wasn't sure he could bear to do it, but she would tell him to live. He knew that deep like a secret in his weary heart, and he huddled around the answer in silence, unable to speak. The voice made no further demands. It just waited all around him, and inside his head, until he could no longer resist. It came out as a sob. Just the one word, "Live."

The voice was at once soft and beautiful. "You have chosen well, Seeker."

He tried again to twist towards it as warmth spread rapidly through him, but he could not move. "Who are you?" he cried. "Can I see your face?"

She did not answer. He felt the warmth still spreading through him from limb to limb, and he thought for a moment he saw there inside his mind the face of a woman unlike any other. Young and old; a mother, a girl and an old, wrinkled woman in the same space, the same face. Newborn and ancient, and so beautiful it hurt to look upon her face. And yet he could not look away. He stared at it in rapture until nothing remained.

**xxx**

Richard blinked, his eyes fluttering open. The sky shone brilliant blue overhead. He put a hand to his brow, frowning up at the bright light of day. Slowly he sat up. Cara was seated nearby on the black ground, rocking his daughter in her arms.

"You're rocking my child," he stated, still rubbing his head. His thoughts felt fuzzy and out of place.

Cara froze. "It started squalling. I was afraid it would alert others to our location. This was a strategic decision. The motion appears to have quieted it."

Richard smiled. "You mean her. My child is a girl."

"Yes." Cara smirked. "Women are always stronger than men. Take her back. It's about time you woke up."

"Woke up?" He staggered to his feet. He was standing on the great rift, though the land no longer gaped open. Here and there, the cliffs were dotted with little piles of ash. "I don't remember…what happened?" He spun around, his heart pounding wildly. "Where's Kahlan?"

"Nox's men have moved them onto lifts, her and Zedd. They're alive," she added when she caught sight of his face. "Zedd was trying to heal her right up until the point when he collapsed beside her. When I reached them, they were both unconscious, but breathing steadily. Kahlan's stopped bleeding. We don't know what to do for them other than try to make them comfortable and get them to shelter."

Nox and his men were here; he didn't remember that at all. And Kahlan was still not well. Thoughts jumbled frantically inside his head, and Richard started running, Cara doing her best to keep up with an infant in her arms. "We were going to move all three of you to Isham if you didn't wake up in the next hour," she said as she jogged after him. "But now that you're up, it's your call, Lord Rahl."

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly two hours."

"Two hours…" He shook his head. "What happened? I can't remember."

Cara frowned. "We were hoping you could tell us. You just reappeared, right after all the banelings turned to ash."

"To ash?" He pressed his hand to his brow, the piles of ash he'd been carelessly running through taking on new meaning. His mind was a blank, and then there was Kahlan. He had to get to her. He caught sight of a cluster of D'Harans in the distance, and held out his hands for his daughter. She was still naked, and he pulled off his shirt. He folded the dried blood away from her before wrapping her up in the cleanest part, and nestling her against his chest.

Cara was staring at him, eyes wide and incredulous. "What is it?" he asked in a gruff voice. If she wanted to tease him about taking care of his child, it would have to wait. He didn't have the patience.

But Cara just shook her head. "The mark…it's gone."

He looked down at his chest, finding nothing but smooth skin where the old scar had been. "I don't…I don't know how." His daughter was nuzzling his chest, her mouth gaping open as she mewled softly. His heart twisted; the poor thing had to be starving. He gave her the tip of his little finger to suckle and started walking again. "I don't remember anything, Cara. Talk while we walk."

"Anything?" she repeated.

No, that wasn't true. He remembered the nightmare he and Kahlan had shared in the Underworld. He remembered the birth of his daughter. Kahlan's slip into unconsciousness and all the blood. He remembered the stone shining every bit as red as her blood.

"The banelings were coming. You went to meet them, and Zedd was trying to save Kahlan. I, I took the stone into the Underworld. There was an inscription…" He tried to remember what it had said, but he couldn't. He remembered nothing beyond racing down into the dark depths of the rift. "I thought we were all going to die."

Cara trotted along beside him. "Just before I reached the banelings, they were attacked from behind. General Nox had led his men this way as soon as they defeated the Sisters of the Dark. What was left of them, anyway. We were outnumbered." She swallowed hard. "I thought we were going to lose."

Richard nodded. He knew Cara, and he knew it must have been very grim indeed for her to make such an admission.

"We were surrounded when suddenly there was a flash of light, so bright you couldn't see. When it faded, all the cracks in the rift had closed up, and the banelings had turned to ash. We thought it was something you'd done."

Richard shook his head. "I don't remember…"

"And then you were just lying there," Cara went on. "No one knew how you got there, but you were breathing, and you had no injuries we could see. Nothing we did roused you, so I had the men start constructing a way to move the three of you, and I waited for you to wake up."

He nodded, feeling dazed by all she had said. "You did everything right, Cara." He sighed, "I just wish I could remember." But his mind remained resolutely blank.

"Maybe the stone took your memories away? Whatever you did, you saved us all." She spoke with such pride in her voice and admiration in her eyes that he felt his face heat.

When he reached the cluster of bloodied, ragged soldiers, they all fell into rank, pounding fists to their chests. But Richard pushed past them, interrupting their resounding chorus of "Master Rahl guide us…" with a desperate, "Where is she? Where's Kahlan?"

The men parted for him, leaving a path through to where General Nox himself was keeping careful watch over Kahlan and Zedd. They were lying prone on stretchers that appeared to have been hastily fashioned out of rope and saddle blankets. They both lay very still. His grandfather seemed older, far older, than Richard remembered. Wrinkles ran like wheel ruts across his face, and his skin was waxen. But Kahlan was still as white as her dress, and when he bent down to press a kiss to her cheek, her skin was cold as ice. He had to study the rise and fall of her chest just to convince himself she was still alive. She was still with him. For now.

"I told you he'd wake up." Richard turned around at the sound of Nox speaking in a low voice. To his surprise, he saw the general's massive hand was resting on Cara's shoulder. Even more astonishing than that, Cara made no move to shrug off the unwanted contact and deal him a blow to the face. She merely nodded. Then Nox noticed him looking, and the hand slipped away so quickly it was almost as if he'd imagined it.

"Thank you," Richard began quietly. "You and your men, they saved us all."

"Your men, Lord Rahl," said Nox, bowing and moving towards him. His wild blond hair was flecked with blood. "And it is you who saved the day yet again. We all would have soon perished if you hadn't ventured into the Underworld to do battle with the Keeper himself."

Richard shook his head. "I don't remember any such thing."

"A bad memory on your part makes the deed no less great. Hundreds of banelings turned to ash in a single moment. There could not be a clearer sign of the Keeper's defeat. You have restored the balance of our world, Lord Rahl."

Richard acquiesced with a shrug. He didn't have the energy to argue against what was no more than a gaping hole in his mind. "I need to get Kahlan and Zedd somewhere where they can recover," he said quietly. "And my daughter needs to eat."

"Leave it to me, Lord Rahl," said Nox. "We'll have you to Isham by the fastest roads." He gave a swift bow. "I'll ready the men for immediate departure."

Richard could only nod. He stumbled forward, still clutching his now slumbering daughter to his chest. He sunk to the ground between Kahlan and Zedd's makeshift beds, and laced Kahlan's cold, limp fingers with his own. All he wanted in this world was for her eyes to open, and the longer he wished it, the more resolutely they seemed to stay closed. He held tight to his family, and let the task of planning pass to shoulders other than his. He could do no more this day.


	42. Vigil

**XLII. VIGIL**

There was a knock on the door. Richard lifted his head from Kahlan's bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. It was dark in the long, narrow room, the sun having set hours before. Moonlight fell through the lone window, illuminating a rectangular patch on the floor. The fire had all but burned out in the grate, and he got up to stir the dying embers, calling as he did, "Come in."

A maid he recognized from their arrival at Isham entered wearing a plain brown dress. She had dark eyes, and a round, pretty face that looked no older than Kahlan's. He'd been told her name was Jessica. She had a young son of her own, and had come to Isham seeking shelter from banelings for the two of them. He couldn't remember how old she'd said the babe was. Four months, perhaps. Maybe five. Either way, she was the only woman in the camp whose breasts were heavy with milk for her son. Nox had summoned her almost before they'd dismounted their horses, and she'd been presented with the newborn Rahl child to nurse. Jessica had cast a timid glance his way, promising to bathe the infant and let him rest awhile before returning her.

That must have been a few hours ago, at least. The sun had still been up, if far in the west. Their frantic ride to the fortress city of Isham was little more than a blur in his mind.

Jessica shuffled into the room, bowing and murmuring his title. He gave a weary nod and glanced again at Kahlan, though he already knew there had been no change. She still lay cold and motionless, faintly breathing. Zedd lay much the same in a room not far from hers, but he hadn't yet been able to tear himself from her side to check on him.

"I brought your daughter, Lord Rahl," said Jessica, nodding at the bundle resting in her arms. She'd been swaddled in clean, white cloth and was staring up at the maid, her inky eyes open wide. "I wasn't sure…would you prefer me to see to a nursery room for her?"

Richard shook his head. "No. No, I want her here with me." He swallowed, amending, "With us."

"Of course, my lord." Jessica looked down at the baby in her arms and made a soft, cooing sound. "She needs to feed again."

"Well?" He blushed, gesturing vaguely in her direction. "Shouldn't you…"

She hesitated a moment, worrying her lower lip back and forth with her teeth. "It would be best if the Mother Confessor could nurse her child. I thought you might assist me?"

Richard looked at Kahlan, the firelight dancing across her face. Two women had come and removed the bloodstained ruins of her dress. Together they'd bathed her and dressed her in a soft, white nightgown. At a glance, she looked as if she could be sleeping, but she hadn't stirred once. "She's not," he stammered. "She's not awake."

"Yes, but her milk has come in all the same, Lord Rahl. It is…" Jessica paused, pursing her lips together and looking unsure of how to proceed. She took a deep breath. "It is quite painful for a woman to be engorged as the Mother Confessor is now, and she will soon stop producing milk if it is not drunk by her little one. Then she would be unable to nurse her once she wakes."

Richard nodded, the tips of his ears turning red. "Well then," he said in a thick voice. He hated the thought of Kahlan in pain and losing the ability to nurse their child. And Jessica was the first person to speak not in terms of _if_ Kahlan awoke, but _when_. Though he knew the maid had no knowledge of what kept Kahlan unconscious, it soothed him all the same. He got up from his stool and turned to face the wall. "Go ahead."

"Lord Rahl?" Jessica sounded bewildered. "I thought…" She took another deep breath. "Would you unbutton her shift for me, my lord?"

Richard shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I…" His cheeks burned hot, and he was suddenly grateful for the darkness of the room. He glanced over his shoulder. Jessica did have her hands full with his child. "I suppose." His tongue felt too large in his mouth, and his hands shook as he reached for the first round, pearl button fastened just beneath the hollow of Kahlan's throat.

He stared resolutely at the stone floor beneath his feet as he worked the button free, exposing a patch of creamy flesh. It was difficult to unbutton the nightgown without watching his hands, and he took a long time on the next two buttons.

"Is something wrong, Lord Rahl?" Jessica asked at last.

Richard stiffened. "I just prefer not to undress her without her permission."

A light, silvery laugh tumbled from the maid's lips. "A man who looks like you, Lord Rahl? I doubt any woman would deny you permission."

He turned so suddenly to glare at her that she took a quick step back, bowing her head. "Forgive me. It was not my place to say so." She spoke with such deep fear that Richard realized an improper comment addressed at Lord Rahl had probably been met with far worse than an irritated glance back when his brother was in charge.

He sighed and shook his head. "It's all right. This is…difficult for me, that's all." He got to his feet and nudged the stool towards Jessica. "I'll hold my daughter, and you take over from here. I don't know anything about teaching a baby to suckle anyways."

Jessica nodded meekly, still seeming afraid of him. She passed him his child and perched on the edge of the stool. Her small, nimble fingers made quick work of the remaining buttons.

Richard stared down at his daughter as one of Kahlan's swollen breasts slipped into view, the firelight soft on her bare skin. His daughter was blinking up at him, and he smiled despite himself. She was so very small. Gently he pressed his lips to the tender skin of her brow, breathing her in. Holding her close made the ache in his heart hurt a little less.

"All right, Lord Rahl," said Jessica, twisting around on the stool. "I'm ready for her." Still red-faced, Richard handed the infant over, and after a few moments of fussing, the maid had her latched onto Kahlan's breast and suckling heartily. She backed away, and it was almost as it was meant to be, except Kahlan lay limply there, making no move to stroke or cradle the child at her breast.

Richard tugged his hands back through his hair and paced over to the window, staring out at the night. He didn't want to begin crying over something so private in front of this stranger. "Any word on my grandfather?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Oh, yes!" said Jessica at once. "I'd nearly forgotten to tell you. He's awake, Lord Rahl. When I checked on him last, he told me he was still too weak to rise, but that he'd already begun recalling his strength, and would be on his feet before the night was through. He also asked that you not trouble yourself with visiting his bedside. He'll make his way to you as he's able."

Richard nodded, glad Zedd understood he couldn't leave Kahlan's side again. Not for anything. "Thank you, Jessica," he said quietly.

She gave a little curtsy. "I'd best be checking on him again, unless you need anything else?"

"The baby?" He gestured at the suckling infant. "What do I…"

"Just let her be," said Jessica. "She'll drink her fill and fall back to sleep." Richard nodded. "You have a beautiful daughter, Lord Rahl, if you'll allow my saying so."

"Speak the truth," he said, bothered by how the maid tiptoed around him. "That's always allowed." And she was beautiful. He could watch her endlessly, he was sure, and still be in awe of her.

"Yes, my lord," said Jessica. "If you're not needing anything else…"

Richard nodded, not looking up from his daughter. "No, thank you, Jessica. We'll be all right," he mumbled. He heard her leave, softly shutting the door behind her. Only when her footsteps had faded away did he let out a deep, heavy breath and burry his face in his hands, his eyes wet with tears. He sat that way a long time on the verge of weeping, listening to the soft sounds of his daughter nursing at her mother's breast. He kept his eyes shut, no longer able to bear watching Kahlan lie there lifeless, unable to enjoy the child she'd all but died for.

After a time, he began to worry. Jessica had assured him it was painful not to nurse once the milk came in, and Kahlan's other breast still hung heavy and untouched, swollen with milk. Holding his breath, Richard scooted the stool forward, reaching around his daughter to undo the final button on Kahlan's nightgown. The baby kept nursing, paying him no mind. He tried to shift the fabric over, but it wouldn't move far enough. Not with his daughter lying right on top of it. He sat there a long time, deliberating, his hands hanging awkward over mother and child, before at last reaching down and lifting the baby off Kahlan's breast.

Her whole demeanor changed instantly, and she began squirming, her head turning frantically from side to side. Mouth open wide, she bleated like a lost little lamb. "Sorry, I'm sorry," said Richard, rocking her in his arms. "Shhh…" It did nothing to quiet her. In fact, he thought she began to bleat louder. The breast she'd been nursing at lay exposed, a drop of milk still beading at the tip, and Richard felt very hot.

He looked up at the ceiling, and tried to fix the problem by tugging on the nightgown with a fingertip, but the fabric was twisted tight beneath Kahlan and wouldn't budge. When his finger brushed against her bare breast, his whole body tensed and his cheeks burned. His daughter was wriggling so frantically now that he was afraid to use both hands, for fear she'd roll herself right out of his arms.

"I'm sorry," he said again, setting her down on the mattress as she began to wail louder. He didn't know how so small a creature could make so loud a sound. "I'm sorry. I didn't, I wasn't thinking. Just a moment." He leaned over Kahlan, rolling her and tugging her nightgown down to free her other breast. The infant continued to shriek, and he winced at the sound. "Shush, little one. You'll wake Kahlan." As soon as he said the words, he realized how ridiculous they were, and then it was all he could do not to curl up beside his outraged daughter and wail along with her.

"I know," he soothed, speaking around the lump in his throat. "I need her too. Differently, but just as much." He eased Kahlan's nightgown further down, shaking his head. "Kahlan would never make you start screaming in the middle of the night. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help…I don't know what I'm doing." He picked up the screaming bundle again, and lifted her over to Kahlan's other side, where her breast now lay free.

"There, you can eat," he offered, settling the baby in close. She seemed not to realize what he'd done and kept wailing, rooting around blindly for her mother's milk. Feeling desperate, he reached over and, with burning hands, pushed Kahlan's nipple into his daughter's mouth.

The wailing stopped, and after a moment, the soft, snuffling, suckling sounds resumed. The hushed quiet seemed very loud. Tenderly, Richard tugged Kahlan's nightgown back in place to cover her other breast, and then he ran his fingers over the dark, downy hair of his daughter's head. "I'm sorry," he said again as he felt tears begin to leak down his face. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I know I'm not as good as Kahlan. I don't know what I'm doing." He bit back a sob. "I can't be your mother, and you need your mother."

There was a knock at the door, and Richard sat up, hastily rubbing his hands over his damp face as the door creaked open. His grandfather's head peeked in.

"Zedd." Richard tried to put on a smile, but he had a feeling he didn't manage well.

"Hello, my boy," said Zedd as he stepped into the room. Though he was up and walking, he moved very slowly, as if he was in considerable pain. The old wizard gave him a thin-lipped smile. "I heard a most ferocious sort of howling. I came to see if everything's all right."

"Yeah," muttered Richard, his face heating again. "Everything's fine. Everything is under control." Zedd looked down at the infant suckling at Kahlan's breast, but said nothing.

"Here." Richard got to his feet and dragged a chair over for his grandfather. "Sit down. You don't look too steady yet." Zedd gave him a quiet smile and took the offered chair. Richard twisted his hands together. "I'm glad you're awake. Jessica told me you were up."

"Yes. Lovely girl. Another day or two under her care, and I shall be very much as I was before."

Richard sunk back onto his stool. "Have you talked to Cara yet?" He knew there was a lot his grandfather had missed when he collapsed, but he lacked the energy to begin filling him in.

"I have," said Zedd. "She came to visit me about an hour ago, and told me all that's happened. I hear you saved the day, and are pretending not to remember any of it."

"I don't remember it!" said Richard heatedly. "I'm not pretending."

"Ah, well…Cara will be Cara." The old wizard gave a wink. "Either way, I'm tremendously proud of you, my boy. The rift is sealed, and we have you to thank for it."

And Kahlan, Richard thought, but he said nothing. He wanted to ask Zedd about her, about when she would wake up, but he couldn't bear to, not if the news was bad. After a long silence, Zedd spoke again. "Your daughter is beautiful, Richard. What is her name?"

"She doesn't have one. Kahlan and I are going to name her together."

"Richard…" His voice sounded very weary.

Richard looked away, pressing his hand against his mouth. "Say it. Just say what it is you came here to say. I cannot ask it."

There was a sound of wooden chair legs scraping across the stone floor, and then Zedd's hand came to rest warm and heavy on his shoulder. "In your heart, you already know what I must tell you. She is dying."

"No!" He shrugged off his grandfather's touch, his voice rough.

"I cannot heal her," Zedd went on. "The injuries from the birth, the blood loss, yes. I have healed her of those, but…" He paused, shaking his head. "The simplest way to describe it is as if she's been poisoned. A very strong, very deadly poison that I cannot draw out of her."

Richard stared at the stone wall before him, weeping silently. Zedd's voice washed over him. "I tried. Long after I knew it was hopeless, I tried to draw the poison out of her and into me, so you would not have to lose her. Believe me when I tell you I was willing to take all of the poison into myself and die, if that would free her from its clutches, but even that could not be done. What is in her will not leave her. Eventually my attempts pushed me past the brink of exhaustion and I collapsed."

Richard nodded. He wanted to thank Zedd for all he'd done for Kahlan and their baby, but he couldn't form the words. Kahlan was dying, and he felt hollow.

Finally he managed a single question, "How?"

"It's the Underworld's doing," said Zedd. He settled back in his chair, folding weathered hands over knobby knees. "We are not meant to go there as living creatures. It begins to age us rapidly; it kills us in minutes, it is so hostile a place to a living body. No live soul has been in the Underworld so long a time as Kahlan. It should not be possible, and without aging… I do not know what happened when you went down there a second time, perhaps the stone protected you. But the Underworld has taken its toll on Kahlan in another way. It's seeped into her body, slow and insidious, and now she carries death in her veins."

"But she's…she's sleeping," Richard protested. "She's not so cold as she was before."

"I'll show you." Zedd leaned over the bed and picked up her arm. "It will be easier for you to understand this way." He turned her arm so her palm lay up, and tapped his fingers right over the spot on her wrist where her veins ran like blue ghosts beneath paper white skin. The wizard uttered a command in a language Richard did not understand, and when he lifted his hand away, Kahlan's veins stood out bold against her skin. They had turned a horrid, bitter shade of black.

"What is that?" Richard gasped. Her wrist was swiftly changing to mottled brown and black, as if covered in bruises, and he could see a foul substance churning right beneath her skin. Zedd touched her arm again, and the color faded.

"That is the Underworld's poison, like a living death beneath her skin. It runs that way throughout her whole body. I can draw it near to the surface, but I cannot pull it from her. I even tried to bleed it out of her, but the blood pours out and the poison remains, and she gets weaker." Zedd settled her arm gently down on the blanket. "There is nothing more I can do for her, Richard. I'm so sorry."

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "So that's it? She just dies now?" His voice cracked, and he clenched his hands in fists. He could not forget the sight of the black poison flowing through her veins. The image burned in his mind.

Zedd gave a single, sad shake of his head. "I've never encountered anything like this before, not in all my years of study. The poison's hold on her is so strong that my magic can no longer wake her, yet her milk has come in, which means her body has not shut down completely."

Richard bolted upright, nearly falling off his stool. "So there's a chance?" His voice was hoarse and desperate.

The old wizard pressed his fingertips together. "I don't want to give you false hope. This may be all that ever happens. And even if her body finds some way to fight the poison and she awakes, she will not be the same woman you knew before. She has the Keeper's hands wrapped around her heart."

Richard smoothed his hand over Kahlan's hair. Their daughter had fallen asleep curled against her side. "So she'll…" He sucked in a breath. It was hard to speak. "How long until she…?"

"I don't know," said Zedd quietly. "Perhaps the poison will build up until it kills her with its toxins, but that seems unlikely. It's remained at a constant level inside her since she escaped the rift. What I suspect will happen is that the poison will keep her unconscious so long she begins to waste away."

"Or she might wake up."

"That's a very big might, Richard," said Zedd in a voice that sounded as if he wished he weren't the one to say it.

"It's all I have left."

"You also have your daughter. Kahlan gave you that."

"She isn't poisoned too?" he asked, his words seeped in bitterness. At this point, he almost expected to be told that he would soon be losing the child as well.

"No," said Zedd softly. "Kahlan's body acted as a barrier, sparing the child everything. It is part of why she's so weak. She had no strength left to shield herself."

"She did too much," muttered Richard. His grandfather shot him a sharp look.

"A few drops of this poison in your daughter's blood, and she would be dead. She is not yet a full day old. She has none of the strength and resiliency that have allowed Kahlan to fight back as long as she has."

Richard hung his head, shamefaced. He was a horrible father; trying to bargain away his daughter's life to get back her mother. "I'm sorry," he said in a whisper. "I miss Kahlan."

"I know you do, my boy." Zedd got to his feet as if he knew there was no more he could say. He was halfway to the door when Richard spoke.

"She confessed me." It seemed he'd held the news in so long he could not help but say it now, even though all had since fallen apart.

The wizard stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"In the Underworld... The Keeper needed our daughter alive. Kahlan thought there was no way out, so she confessed me and ordered me to kill her and the baby." He paused. It still made him tremble just to say those words. "But it didn't work."

"So I see," said Zedd in a wondering voice, sinking back into his chair.

Richard shifted on the stool so he sat facing him. "It wasn't just the Underworld, or my being dead that saved me." The Keeper had helped shape the world, and he had been counting on confession working on the souls of the dead. He should have been taken by her magic. Of that he was certain. "I felt her magic. It just didn't work."

Zedd was nodding. "Confession is not blood magic. It works soul to soul. It should be unhindered by death, in theory." He smiled sadly. "So you love her well enough."

"Of course I love her. What do you mean?"

"There's a rumor that's been passed down through the generations in the Wizard's Keep. They said that a strong enough love, one mature and deep enough to submit gladly to the Confessor's touch, instead of fighting against it, would be an antidote to confession. It would allow the man to survive unchanged."

Richard frowned. "You never mentioned this."

"It was a rumor, a theory, no more than that. I didn't want to plant ideas in your heads that might have been the ruin of you both. And then when we learned of the fate of Kieran and Vivian, I figured the rumors had been wrong after all. After seeing their fate, I vowed to forever hold my tongue." He gave a thin, little smile. "And now I see the rumors were true after all."

"A lot of good it does us now," snapped Richard. They might have been together, been a real family, but instead his duty was to sit beside her and watch her die.

Zedd looked at him sternly. "I know what I've told you is grim. But that woman lying there would not give up hope on you until you were dead and buried in the grave. And perhaps not even then." He squeezed Richard's shoulder and got to his feet. "You owe her the same." Richard nodded meekly and stared at the ground as his grandfather started for the door. Zedd paused with his hand on the knob. "You yourself have proven there is no magic stronger than love. Talk to her. Give her a reason to fight."

Richard scooted closer to the bed as the door clicked shut. His voice soft and tentative, he began to tell Kahlan of all that had happened, how the world was safe now, and how beautiful their daughter was. How much he missed her. He talked to her all throughout the long, dark night, and when the first light of day began filtering in, his voice was hoarse, but Kahlan showed no sign of change. At last Richard could bear it no more. He fell silent and, burying his face in his hands, he began to weep.


	43. Unnamed

**XLIII. UNNAMED **

Over the next eight days and nights, Richard saw no more of the elaborate fortress city of Isham than he had on his arrival. He spent his time confined to Kahlan's chambers, pacing back and forth from one end of the gray stone room to the other. A cot had been brought in for him, and a little, humble cradle for his daughter, with many apologies for their simplicity. But this was a military base, and there had been no need for ornate cribs or silk bed sheets here before.

Richard did not mind though. He waved off the apologies with a forced smile and a quiet word of thanks. While his daughter often slept in her cradle, he never used the cot. He couldn't recall sleeping at all since he'd first taken up watch at Kahlan's bedside, though he must have dozed now and then. He had cricks in his neck enough to prove it. Most hours he sat on the stool at Kahlan's side and watched her sleep. He still called it sleeping, because that was better than the other words he could think of to describe what was happening to her.

He'd been given a new shirt, but beyond that, he hadn't changed his clothes or bathed at all. The beginnings of a beard now covered his face, and his hair was limp with grease. Richard knew he made a frightful sight, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His days were empty and long.

In the beginning, when his daughter fussed he'd helped her to latch onto Kahlan's breast, quickly getting over some of the embarrassment he'd felt that first night. But Kahlan couldn't eat, and her milk supply had dwindled rapidly. Jessica now had to come by several times a day to nurse the baby, the meager mouthfuls she got from her mother not being near enough to sustain her. When she came, Jessica always brought a tray of food with her, encouraging him to eat while she nursed the baby. He always forced down a few mouthfuls. The one time he'd refused to touch any of it, Jessica had taken the tray away without a word. But an hour later, Cara had knocked on his door, accompanied by General Nox. The two of them had all but force fed him a five course meal.

Kahlan, on the other hand, was starving slowly. There was water that he dribbled into her mouth a few drops at a time, waiting until she swallowed reflexively before giving her more. And there was a thin gruel the kitchen staff made, which he fed to her in the same manner. But he could work at it all afternoon and get her to swallow no more than the equivalent of a spoonful. The result was that she looked frighteningly gaunt. Her cheeks were sunken; her skin a sallow, sickly color. All the extra softness her body had gained for their daughter's sake was melting away, and he could count far too many ribs through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

The only other visitor he allowed was his grandfather. Every day Zedd came and asked the baby's name, and every day she had none. Always Richard asked to see the poison in Kahlan's veins, and always it was the same. Bitter, spreading black throughout her body, and she would not wake. Would never wake. It seemed he'd run out of tears. He felt as brittle as an eggshell, and with just as many sharp, jagged bits as one that had already cracked.

On the ninth day, Zedd came to visit him earlier than usual. He gave a perfunctory knock on the door before pushing it open and stepping inside. Richard was crouched on the stool, winding a strand of Kahlan's hair around his finger. He didn't look up.

"Where's my great-granddaughter?" asked Zedd, the cheerful note in his voice ringing harsh and wrong against Richard's ears.

"In her cradle," he muttered.

"And what shall I call her today? Elsa? Loralin? Kora? Or has her father at last thought her a name?"

"Not today, Zedd. Call her what you like. She has none." Richard glanced over his shoulder to where the old wizard stood, lifting the infant out of her cradle and up into his arms. He babbled nonsense to her, and Richard turned back to Kahlan. He smoothed back a stray strand of hair from her brow. She was no longer cold as ice, but she remained cool and clammy to the touch.

Zedd settled down in his usual chair, still blathering nonsense to the infant, who stared up at him raptly. Richard ignored the wizard's game as long as he could, but eventually the jarringly happy sounds made him want to scream. He held out his arms. "I'll have my child now," he said, not able to care that he sounded petulant and cruel.

Zedd handed her over without comment, and Richard pressed a fierce kiss to the top of her head before settling her against his chest. She'd worked an arm free of her swaddling cloth, and grasped for his pendant with a clumsy little hand. Richard closed his eyes and breathed. Holding her was the only time he felt alive.

"You need to get some sleep, Richard," said Zedd softly. "I'll sit with Kahlan while you rest."

"Can't." It was suddenly hard to make his voice work, and he held his daughter tighter.

"Come on, my boy. You can barely see straight."

"No!" His voice came out too loud, and the silence that followed was absolute. He forced himself to look over at his grandfather. "No," he said again. "If this is all I get with her, then I want it all. Every last minute. I'll sleep when she's dead."

Tears swam in the old wizard's eyes, and he didn't push the subject. They sat in silence a long time before Richard spoke again. "Show me," he said quietly. Zedd nodded. It had become a ritual of sorts. Wordlessly, he reached over and stroked Kahlan's arm. The poison sprang to life, spreading like a spider web across her skin. Richard stared and stared until Zedd made it fade, but it was still there, still lurking inside her.

"I spoke to General Nox this morning," said Zedd after he'd set her arm back down on the bed, and tucked the blanket over it. "The D'Harans in the camp are anxious to know how best to serve you."

"I just want to be left alone."

"There is a whole country left ravaged by Darken Rahl and the Keeper's minions. They are all looking to you for guidance."

He traced the tip of his daughter's ear. "I have none to give them."

Zedd leaned forward, resting a hand on Richard's arm. "That doesn't sound like the Richard I know."

He shrugged the hand off with a rough jerk of his shoulder. "The Richard you knew has just lost the best part of himself. I don't expect him to return. I have nothing for them." He scooted his stool closer to Kahlan's bed. "Tell the D'Harans to leave their Lord Rahl alone if they want to please him. He's in mourning." In mourning for the living dead. Kahlan's chest still rose and fell with every breath even as she faded away to nothing.

"They know," said Zedd. "They walk around this place on tiptoe, they are so afraid of upsetting you."

Richard scowled. "I'm not my brother. I won't have anyone hanged for closing a door too loudly, but I cannot be their Lord Rahl. Not now. Not today." He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "Tell Nox to do whatever he judges to be right. If he wants guidance as to my wishes, have him seek it from Cara. Whatever she approves, I approve."

Zedd nodded. "I'll see that it is done." He ran his finger along a seam in his robe. "There is another matter I want to discuss with you, Richard." The sudden hesitancy in his voice set Richard on edge. He lifted an eyebrow.

"What?"

When the wizard spoke again, it was very quietly. "It can take weeks for a person to starve to death. It is a cruel, painful way to go. Aydindril outlawed it as an execution method in the Midlands over a century ago, on the grounds that it is too inhumane a punishment to be allowed for any crime."

Richard stiffened. "What are you saying, Zedd?" His heart began to beat faster, his voice taking on an edge like the Sword of Truth.

"There are potions, ways to make it swifter and painless…"

Richard shot to his feet, the stool toppling. It clattered against the stone floor, and he kicked it away. "You want to poison Kahlan? She's already dying from poison, and it's just not working fast enough for you? So how about we poison her again?" His daughter began to fuss, and he patted her back perhaps a little too roughly, glaring down at his grandfather.

Zedd sat calm in his chair, and Richard hated him for it. "You know that's not what I mean, my boy."

"No, it _is _what you mean. And don't you dare call me 'your boy.' Not when you're trying to kill Kahlan!"

The wizard stood then, towering over his grandson. He gripped him by the shoulders, pale eyes boring into him. "Do you think this is what she wants? If Kahlan could choose how to die, would she want to waste away to a skeleton, while you sit by her side and go mad with grief?"

Richard shook. It felt as if his heart was coming apart inside his chest. "Get out," he said, his voice very low.

Zedd nodded, but he did not move. His eyes dimmed with sorrow. "You owe that child a name."

"Get out," Richard repeated, his voice growing louder.

He didn't budge. "And you owe Kahlan a name for her daughter. You owe it to her to be brave enough to name that little girl and love her, without her at your side to do the same."

"Get out now!" Richard roared. He slammed the heel of his hand against his grandfather's chest, and Zedd stumbled backwards. "Leave," he shouted as the baby became frightened by the noise and began to wail, her face scrunching up and turning red. "Go away," Richard hissed, tears streaming down his face.

Zedd regained his footing, and stood there staring at him a moment, sad and silent, before walking out the door. Richard kicked the door shut behind him. He began to pace a narrow loop up and down the length of the room, rocking his screaming daughter in his arms.

She was still crying hysterically an hour later when Jessica showed up to nurse her. Richard said nothing, handing her the screaming infant in silence. She sat down in the chair at the far corner of the room for the feeding, and Richard returned to the stool at Kahlan's side. He didn't so much as glance at the tray of food Jessica had brought him the entire time.

"Take it away," he said in a hollow voice as she was lowering his daughter back into her cradle. "All of it."

Jessica did, and he bolted the door behind her. When Cara came pounding on his door a little while later, he didn't answer. She kept knocking, and so he shouted her away, much as he'd done with Zedd. This time, the baby slept through the noise.

In the end, it was painfully silent in Kahlan's bedchamber. He sat beside her and told her disjointed tales from his childhood in Westland, while working all afternoon and most of the evening to get her to swallow the equivalent of a few thimbles full of water.

When Jessica came late in the dark hours of the night to give his daughter another feeding, he finally gave up on trying to get Kahlan to swallow more. After the maid had finished and left him alone, he knelt down next to the bed. "I miss you," he whispered into the lank knots of Kahlan's hair. And for the very first time, he pulled off his boots and padded back to the cradle, lifting their daughter into his arms. Her eyelids were heavy with sleep, and she murmured little sounds as he eased himself onto the bed beside Kahlan. Carefully, he nestled the babe like a treasure between them, and, leaning over them both, he stroked Kahlan's cheek.

"This is how it should have been," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lifeless lips. And then Richard curled up beside her, and for the first time in over a week, he fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.

**xxx**

He awoke to a gentle, golden dawn, and Kahlan's faint, fragile breathing. She lay there just as before, pale and hollowed out from the inside. But their daughter was awake and wriggling in a sunbeam. For the first time ever, he thought he saw flecks of gold in the dark depths of her eyes. She waved her arms about and gurgled at him, and he watched her enraptured as the sky streaked golden and violet in the east. Only when dawn had faded to the blue of day did he speak.

"Amara." He whispered the name at first, then said it a little louder. "Amara…Kahlan, her name is Amara." Amara responded by cramming four fingers into her mouth and sucking on them, a line of drool dripping down her chin. Richard chuckled despite himself before turning back to Kahlan. "Amara Amnell. I will tell her of her mother every day. How brave and kind and beautiful she was. That she was selfless enough to save the world, even though it meant losing it for herself."

He paused then to draw a shaky breath, and wipe away the tears that had begun to drip down his cheeks. "I know I'm not a Confessor, but I'll teach her about her power as best I can. I'll tell her about all the good you did as Mother Confessor, so that she will never hate her magic, or feel alone because of it."

Kahlan lay there motionless, but he imagined that she could somehow hear him and understand. He wove their fingers together, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her hand. "The Underworld is a safe place now," he said, staring down at their joined hands. "You don't have to be afraid to die. You'll be with the Creator, and your mother and Dennee. Your little nephew. And I won't go mad, Kahlan, if you have to go. If you can't come back from this. I'll understand." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I just want you to be okay, to be at peace."

With their daughter between them, he bent down and kissed her lips. "And I will always love you, Kahlan Amnell. Know that that will never change. Should I live a thousand years, I'd still be there, loving you. And we'll be together again, someday. In the afterlife. I believe that. I have to believe that."

He kissed his fingertip, and pressed it to her lower lip a last time before sitting up. Her hair was so full of his tears it shone like dew drops on a spider web. Richard slid from the bed and lifted up Amara, who was busy exploring all the fingers on her left hand. He settled her in her cradle, and stood there a long time, watching as she moved her exploration of her fingers from left hand to right. He would have to talk to Zedd, but he wasn't ready. Not yet.

He was still watching Amara mouth her pinky finger, when he heard a faint sound rather like a moan, coming from somewhere behind him. Richard froze, his ears straining, hardly daring to hope. He couldn't bear to turn around and check, for fear he was imagining things. But then he heard it again, followed by a soft, whispering sound, like someone turning their head ever so slightly against a pillow.

Richard spun around to see Kahlan moving her head, her lips parting to suck in a deeper breath. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened slightly. Her eyes looked preternaturally blue against the dark shadows beneath them, and for a moment she seemed not to see him. But then their eyes locked, and he went racing to her bedside so fast he tripped over one of his boots and nearly went sprawling.

"Kahlan," he said, touching trembling fingertips to her cheek. She was still as cool to the touch as before, but her eyes tracked his every move. "Kahlan, thank the spirits you're awake. You're awake…" He wiped away his tears, unable to stop grinning.

She blinked. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to form a word, and then it was less than a whisper.

"Water?"

He lunged for the pitcher, his hands shaking as he filled the little silver cup with water. He sloshed half of it down his front on his way back to her bedside, but it didn't matter. He lifted her head and held the cup to her lips, but she only managed a few swallows before she stopped drinking and sagged against him, looking utterly exhausted.

"That's good, Kahlan," he promised. "You did really good. There's more when you want it. Don't try to talk yet. Just rest." He set the cup down, and picked up her hand to hold. "The rift is sealed. You're safe. Everyone's safe. It's all okay now."

There was a faint lift to her lips that might have been a smile, it was hard to tell. Already her eyes were drooping shut again, but the hand he was holding exerted a feeble pressure against his own, as if she meant to pull him closer. He squeezed back and settled down at her side to wait with renewed energy. His heart pounding in his chest sounded to him like some sort of joyous drum. If she asked it, he felt quite certain he could fly. Kahlan had opened her eyes.


	44. Mother

**XLIV. MOTHER**

Kahlan breathed in slow and tentative. It hurt. She couldn't remember it ever hurting so just to breathe. She kept her eyes shut because it had taken a monumental effort to lift her eyelids, and she wasn't sure she could do it again. Her throat felt like an open wound, and she longed for more water, but even requesting another drink seemed, in that moment, the equivalent of scaling a mountain with her bare hands.

And so she just lay there, relishing the feel of Richard's hand holding hers tight. He was her anchor, and all else was adrift. Her thoughts were muddled by the pain, and she was so, so tired. It was in her bones, a draining away of everything good, like when she'd lain there on the floor of the Underworld, certain she would die. Perhaps she had died, and this was the afterlife. Only the room seemed too unremarkable, and Richard too haggard for that. Her feet were too cold, her blankets too itchy. She had to be alive.

Wincing her way through another breath, Kahlan tried to think. The last thing she remembered was the birth of her daughter. She felt different now without her there; hollowed out, almost empty. For a moment she lay there awash in sorrow, missing the life inside her. A desperate whine picked up inside her head, her thoughts racing faster. Her daughter was gone from her. No longer safe. Cara had held her, and then Zedd. She hadn't… She hadn't been breathing.

Her eyes flew open. Richard was right there, a disheveled ghost of himself with dark circles beneath his eyes. What had happened to him? But the only two words she could form were a frantic question, "The baby?"

He understood at once. She knew he would. He smiled at her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "She's well," he said. "She's perfect. She's here in the room." Richard glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, towards a part of the room she couldn't see while lying flat on her back. He stood up, letting go of her hand. "I'll get her."

Yes. Get her. That was what she needed. What she wanted to say next, if she hadn't still been trying to summon the energy to speak again. She watched Richard cross carefully back to her bed, carrying a tiny bundle in his arms. He settled on the stool and beamed down at her.

"This is our daughter," he said softly, with more pride than she'd ever heard before in his voice. And then he was leaning over and setting the little creature right on her chest. She was a tiny thing. An insignificant, precious weight between her breasts. Kahlan felt her draw in a soft, hushed breath.

"Oh," she moaned, smiling wonder down at the little, delicate face. Her daughter stared silently up at her with impossibly dark eyes. "Oh…hi." A tear rolled down her cheek. It took all her strength, but she lifted her hand up to rest against her daughter's back. Reverently she reached her fingers up, and stroked her silky hair.

She felt growing in her chest a feeling far fiercer than any she had known before. A deep, unfathomable love that eclipsed the world. It seemed to her that her heart now existed outside her body, locked forever inside this little person. She needed only to be there with her for there to be meaning. And yet she had tried to kill her; she had clenched her legs together and screamed and begged for death. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the memory that it had been to spare her from the Keeper popped up, and she clung to it. The alternative was to drown beneath a black wave of misery and grief.

They were here now, and they were safe. She hoped only that her daughter somehow understood. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I love you." As if in answer, her daughter reached for a lock of her hair, clutching it tight in her little fist. The sight made her so happy, she thought she might weep. This must have been how her own mother had felt when she and Dennee had been young. She had never really understood before.

She stared at her child, and her child stared back, and she never wanted to move from this moment.

Finally she glanced over at Richard. He was a part of this too. She wanted to see if he was feeling as she was. He sat with his hand pressed over his mouth, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He saw her looking and shook his head. "I…" His voice cracked. "It's the first time you've held her."

Kahlan smiled and closed her eyes. She wanted to ask what had happened to make him look so fragile and scarred, but even holding a hand to her daughter's back was wearying.

Richard cleared his throat again, scooting the stool closer to the bed. "I, I named her Amara. We can change it if you like. I know we were going to name her together. I waited, but I…" He faltered again, and she forced her eyes open, taking in his unwashed appearance. He had far more of a beard than she remembered. His hair was wild, his eyes red. It looked as if he had not slept in weeks.

Something clicked into place in her mind, and she asked, "How long?" How many hours had he been keeping vigil at her bedside.

"Today is the tenth day. I named her this morning."

Ten days. She'd lost well over a week, the very first week of her daughter's life. She felt a pang of sorrow in her chest, and looked down at the little baby. But it was her own hand that jumped out at her. Lying there against the soft, rounded body of her child, she barely recognized it as her own. It looked withered and skeletal. Just skin stretched tight over bone.

"I'm supposed to be dead." It wasn't a question.

Richard looked at her helplessly before nodding his head. "Zedd told me you'd never wake up. I didn't want to believe him, but…" He trailed off. But she'd been turning into a skeleton before his very eyes. Her hand alone gave her shivers; she feared to see the rest of herself.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. She would have lost her mind watching him die one day at a time.

But he looked heartbroken at that. "No, no," he said over and over again. "Don't be sorry. Just keep breathing."

She wanted to smile then for his sake, but it took too much effort. All she could do was what he asked; she drew in another raw, painful breath.

For a long time she just lay there, breathing in, trying to gather the strength to speak again. This time she kept her eyes closed. It was a little less tiring that way. "So," she whispered. "Amara?"

"Yes." He sounded tentative, almost as scared as he'd been of her right after Amara had been conceived. "Amara Amnell, if you like."

"No," she breathed. And she knew if she opened her eyes, his face would be a web of grief. Kahlan forced herself to speak swiftly though her throat felt skinned raw. "Amara Amnell Rahl. Ours."

"Ours." He was grinning now, of that she was certain. They had a daughter, and her name was Amara.

"Richard…" There was so much more she wanted to say to him, but she felt as if she were drifting away.

He seemed to understand, and smoothed back the hair from her brow with a large, warm hand. "Shh, it's okay. Sleep. There will be time. There will be plenty of time."

"Stay?"

He took hold of her hand. "Always."

**xxx**

When she awoke again, Richard held her up and made her eat and drink. Another woman had taken away her daughter to nurse her, and that made her want to weep, but it also made her swallow a fourth spoonful of gruel when her throat cried out after three. Richard promised her that her milk would come back if she would only eat.

She dozed off again soon after her required three sips of water, though she'd meant to talk with him awhile. She drifted through a hazy cycle of sleeping and swallowing spoonfuls of gruel and sips of water. Time passed, but she couldn't track it. She thought she saw Zedd at one point. Then Cara. Always Richard, though. Always Richard, and usually Amara.

The next time she was fully aware of being awake, it was dim in the room. Outside the window, the sky was a dusky blue, and the fire painted long shadows on the walls. She heard a low voice, softly crooning what sounded like a lullaby. The melody rose and fell, and wrapped her up warm like a cocoon. When she turned her head, she saw Richard standing a little ways off, rocking their daughter in his arms as he sung to her. She said nothing, content just to watch the two of them together in their private moment.

When he glanced her way, the song died on his lips. "You're awake." He was at her side in an instant. "How are you? How do you feel?"

She looked up at him, her eyes taking time to focus in the dim light. He'd bathed recently, and his hair was no longer so wild, but he still had the beard. And his eyes were still so frightened. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, wishing she could wipe all his worry away.

But he was still waiting nervously for her answer. "Better," she said. Her voice was a little stronger now, but her throat still felt tender when she swallowed. She smiled at him anyway. "A little better. Amara?"

He looked down at the babe in his arms. "Just fell asleep. Let me set her down, and then I'll get your food." She watched as he pressed a kiss to Amara's brow and lowered her carefully into the cradle. He'd dragged it over closer to the bed, and she liked that. She didn't think she could ever bear to be far from Amara.

"There." Richard straightened up. "You'll eat more, right?" he asked, already moving to fetch the bowl of thin, tasteless gruel. "You need to eat."

She made a face, but nodded. Soon he was seated on the edge of the bed, holding her up against him with one hand, and spooning out gruel with the other. "Zedd's promised a few more days, and you can move on to something that tastes better," he said as she dutifully swallowed her mouthfuls.

It felt wonderful resting against him, but all too soon, the room started to spin. Her head drooped against his chest. "Down," she whimpered when she could stand it no longer, trying not to look at her awful, bony hands. He did as she asked, already practiced at just how to turn to set her quickly and gently back down on the mattress. She lay there, breathing hard. There was a clunk as he placed the bowl on the floor. This was where sleep usually came rolling in, but this time it didn't take her.

At last her heart stopped racing, and Kahlan found she could speak. "How many days," she whispered, "since I first woke up?"

"Four."

Four more days. Time seemed to always be slipping away from her now. "What happened to me? Why… Is this all from the birth?"

Richard's face darkened, though he tried to hide it with a thin smile. "No. Zedd healed you from the birth already."

"Then what?"

He took a deep breath. "It's the Underworld. Being down there made you sick. Zedd said it was like a poison in you that he couldn't draw out."

Kahlan grimaced. "The Sisters of the Dark made me drink something, before they took me into the Underworld." And she'd drank their poison without a second thought. "I was so foolish," she said angrily, but Richard shook his head.

"Don't start that game. Isobel betrayed you." He fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. "Maybe this is how it had to work out. For the prophecy to be fulfilled."

She stared up at him in astonishment. "You don't believe in prophecy."

Richard shook his head. "It showed me how to get to you. I never would have found you without it…" He trailed off, a lost look in his eyes.

"How did you find me?" she asked, realizing that she did not actually know. She hadn't had the strength to wonder when he'd finally appeared before her. "I was in the Underworld. Rahl closed the way behind me. How did you get there?"

"I died." He spoke as if it was a simple answer, but her heart began to beat faster. She forgot the pain in her throat and the heavy weariness cloaking every limb.

"You died? You died…in battle?"

He looked away. "With the Sword of Truth."

"With the sword?" she echoed, and then the answer was there in her hands. He had killed himself to come after. "Oh, Richard." She reached for him, weaving her fingers with his. "You shouldn't have. Not for my sake."

"Don't tell me that." His voice was hard, and when he lifted his head, his eyes were filled with dark, dangerous things. "You were gone, Kahlan. My daughter was gone. I was already dead."

The corners of her eyes pricked with tears. She struggled to sit up, lifting her weight with arms that felt like brittle twigs, about to break. She made it halfway to him before she pitched forward, blackness blotting out her vision in a sudden swoop. His arms caught her before she could tumble off the mattress, and then he was cradling her close and laying her down.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. You're only supposed to rest. It's okay. It's all okay." She felt a teardrop land with a wet splat upon her cheek. "Please be okay."

She wanted to open her eyes and tell him she was fine, but she couldn't push the blackness back. It kept coming in stronger waves, dragging her under until she could not resist, and then she slept.


	45. Entwined

**XLV. ENTWINED**

It seemed forever before they were alone again. The next time Kahlan awoke, there were maids in the room. Richard took a walk with Amara, while they dressed her in a fresh nightgown and helped her use a shallow bowl to relieve herself. She would have been embarrassed if not for the maids who used to fuss over her every move in Aydindril. When they were done, she almost felt clean again. She tried to stay awake until Richard returned, but he was gone a long time, and she drifted back to sleep.

The next time she opened her eyes, Zedd was there. He made her swallow a spoonful of something thick and bitter tasting. It sunk her immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The sound of Amara crying was what finally woke her again. She opened her eyes to see Richard almost out the door, a fussy baby in his arms.

"Where are you going?" she called before the door could swing shut.

A moment later he reappeared, an apologetic look on his face. "I was afraid she'd wake you," he said. "I was just going to get Jessica."

"Who's Jessica?" The question came out sharper than she intended.

Richard stepped back into the room, swaying from foot to foot and shushing Amara. She ignored his efforts and wailed louder. "The maid who's been nursing her. She just woke up, and she's starving." He glanced down at the writhing infant, "Make that mad and starving. She hates waiting." He started for the door. "I'll be back soon."

"Give her to me." Kahlan struggled to sit up, pushing the pillow behind her for support.

He stopped short. "What?"

"Give me my child, Richard. I'll nurse her."

"But you can't."

She glared at him, folding her arms carefully beneath her breasts. They were tender and swollen in size again. She had milk for her child, maybe not enough to manage every feeding on her own, but she wasn't about to let a stranger nurse Amara any more than absolutely necessary. "And why can't I?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the baby's cries.

Richard crossed over to the bed, his face as stern as his dark eyes were sad. "You're still getting your strength back. You need to take care of yourself before you worry about anyone else."

"She's my daughter." The sound of Amara wailing made her heart clench. "Please, I've already missed so much."

That was enough to make him give in. His expression softening, Richard bent down and handed Amara to her. She'd hoped the baby would stop crying once she held her in her arms, but she kept up her sobbing, sucking in a heavy breath and then wailing again. Kahlan rocked her in her arms and looked up at Richard, suddenly unsure. "What do I do?"

He smiled then. "Unbutton your gown."

I knew that," she muttered. Feeling flustered, she reached for the first button. Amara cried louder. "I'm sorry, Amara. I'm sorry," she said as she hurried her way along the row of buttons. She pushed the fabric down, scooting her daughter towards her breast. She hesitated when Amara kept crying, and glanced over at Richard, realizing she had no idea what to do next. "Should I just hold her there?"

He moved closer, leaning over the bed. "Here," he murmured. He stroked a finger down Amara's cheek and along her lower lip. Immediately she stopped crying, turning her head towards the finger and opening her mouth wide. "Now," he said. "Just push it in."

Kahlan did as she was told, and a moment later, her daughter was latched onto her breast. She felt her begin to suckle and looked back up at Richard. "Am I doing it right?"

"Does it hurt?"

She hesitated. It felt strange, but it wasn't painful. And Amara was staring up at her intently, her dark eyes very bright. "No," she said softly. "It doesn't hurt."

"Then you're doing it right."

Kahlan raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all this? You knew just what to do."

His cheeks pinked, and he looked away, shrugging his shoulders. "When we first brought you here, your milk came in, and Jessica, she said it would be very painful for you unless you nursed her. So…" He shrugged, his blush spreading to the tips of his ears. "I was alone with the two of you a lot, so I figured some things out." He met her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Kahlan smiled and looked down at her daughter. "I'm glad you did. You're her father." And it soothed something inside her to know that, even when she'd been unconscious, she'd still been there for her baby in a way. She settled back against the pillows, listening to the sounds of Amara suckling. Her little hand rested against her breast, and was opening and closing into a fist again and again.

She glanced back up at Richard. "You know, this is the longest I've sat up without getting dizzy." She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself. There was so much she still needed to talk to him about. So much she needed to apologize for. He'd been kind and hadn't mentioned confession, but she still remembered what she'd tried to do to him in the Underworld. "We should talk," she said quietly, but Richard ignored her. He looked suddenly tense and uneasy.

"Do you feel all right?" he asked, pressing a hand to her brow. "Maybe it would be best if you lied down again."

"I'm fine," she said, but he looked unconvinced. A moment later he got to his feet and began to pace while she nursed Amara. Now and then she caught him casting nervous glances her way.

"Are you sure you don't need to rest?" he said, stopping his pacing to stare at her openly, that haunted look creeping back into his eyes. "You've been up a long time."

"I'm sure. I am resting. Richard, what's wrong?"

He shook his head and sat back down on the stool. "Nothing." He smiled at her, but his posture was one of coiled motion, his hands and feet restless, his eyes clouded with worry. He drummed the toe of his boot against the floor in a ceaseless rhythm.

At last she could take no more of his fidgeting. "What is it?" she snapped. "What aren't you telling me? I may be stuck in this bed, but I'm still a Confessor."

Richard dragged his hands down his face. "I'm not hiding anything."

She felt her magic stir in response to his words. "And now you're lying," she said sharply. He stared at the floor, fingers knotted in his hair.

"Is it about Amara?" Sudden panic flared up in her breast, and she clutched her nursing child tighter. "Because I swear, Richard, if there's something wrong with her, and you lie to me because you think I'm too weak to handle it, I will get up out of this bed and-"

He grabbed her hand. "It's not Amara. It's not her. I promise I will never lie to you about our daughter."

She stared at him bewildered. "Then what are you lying about?" She gasped, clutching his hand tighter. "Spirits, is it you? Is something wrong with you?"

But again he shook his head. "I'm fine, Kahlan." He wasn't fine. She didn't even need eyes to see that, but he wasn't lying. He wasn't worried about himself. That left only…

"Me." Her voice was soft. "It's about me, this secret."

Richard said nothing, and that was answer enough. "Tell me," she said.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. "It's nothing," he said, his voice trying for lightness. "I just need you to be okay."

Kahlan frowned. "I am okay. This is the best I've felt since I woke up." But Richard still looked wrecked, watching her with fear in his eyes. Her voice wobbled, "Am I not okay?"

For a long time, he didn't answer. "Zedd doesn't know why you're awake," he said at last, studying his feet instead of her face. "How you're awake… The poison, he says it hasn't gone away. It's still inside you, just as strong as when it was killing you. He can't explain it. And you're sitting here smiling at me, and I want to be happy, but I keep thinking it's going to snatch you away again. That I'll turn around for a moment, and you'll be gone."

She sat there stunned, trying to let his words sink in. The poison was still there. She'd assumed it had faded somehow, but it was still in her somewhere like a lurking shadow. Kahlan pushed the thought away, not wanting to consider what that meant. "I'm here now," she said. Richard nodded, but she could see tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

She stretched out her arm to him. "Come here," she whispered, and he did, leaving the stool to perch on the edge of the bed. She wrapped her arm around him, pulling his head down to rest against her shoulder. She felt his tears fall hot on her neck. Oh, this man. He had spent countless sleepless days and nights caring for her, but he'd walked the Underworld too, and nobody had thought to care for him.

She heard him sniffle and stifle a sob. "Don't die," he whispered, like a child trying to bargain with eternity.

"I'll do my best." She pressed a kiss to his hairline before glancing back at Amara. She had all but stopped nursing, just giving an aimless suckle now and then. Her eyes were drowsy, and she looked as if she could fall asleep again. Kahlan smiled and touched a finger to the tip of her nose.

Already Richard was straightening up and wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve, determined to be the strong one. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to worry you."

"It's all right," she soothed. "I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere without a fight."

He nodded and sat back down on the stool. His eyes were still so scared, but a smile played around the corners of his mouth. "I could watch you with her forever," he said softly.

Kahlan eased Amara off her breast, and lay her down in her lap. When she waved a hand over her, the baby reached for it, tugging on her fingers as if they were new and interesting objects. She looked up at Richard through the curtain of her hair, doing her best to ignore the knot in her belly. It tightened whenever she let herself remember she had tried to order her daughter's death. "I confessed you," she said. She didn't know where else to begin.

"It didn't work."

Kahlan shook her head. That was a lucky fluke, some consequence of the Underworld and Richard's own death. She went on, "And then I ordered you to kill us. I know what that would have done to you." He had awakened from confession before to a nightmare not of his own making, and she had sentenced him to the same fate again.

"It would have destroyed me. To wake and find you dead at my own hands, I…" His voice shook. He looked gutted, as if he'd dragged himself down the raw edge of a blade. "There would have been no coming back from that. I would have stayed down there. Stayed dead."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears brimming unshed in the corners of her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Richard."

He waved her words away. "I understand why you did it."

"You do?"

"Yes." He leaned forward to give Amara a smile before looking back at her, the smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. "I didn't have a plan. I had no idea how I was going to get you out of there. If Amara had been born in the Underworld, she would have been bonded to the Keeper for eternity, and she had the stone in her hand."

Kahlan gasped. "What?"

"You don't remember that?"

"I remember she wasn't breathing," said Kahlan softly. "After that, no. I can't remember anything at all." She looked down at Amara, touching her perfect fingernails like little pearls. "She really had the stone?"

"Clutched in her fist. It's how I was able to seal the rift." Richard pushed the hair out of his eyes. "If you'd given birth in the Underworld, we would have delivered the Stone of Tears to the Keeper."

Kahlan shivered and lifted Amara back up to rest against her chest. She held her close, needing the reassurance of her tiny body. It was okay now; their daughter was safe. Richard kept talking, his voice heavy, "If it hadn't worked, if Darken Rahl hadn't been destroyed by your touch, I told myself I was going to have to do it anyway. That I had to kill you both, but I don't know that I could have managed. Not of my own free will. You did the right thing, Kahlan. The only thing."

She pressed her lips to her daughter's head, breathing in her scent. She had never smelled anything more wonderful in all her life. It calmed her, and gave her a way to keep speaking. "I should have trusted you'd find a way out."

"You were dying," he said. "You could barely speak at that point. You did what you thought you had to do to keep the world safe. I could never fault you for that."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is that simple. I love you. There is nothing to forgive." He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. "Between us, there is nothing to forgive."

"Okay," she said. How many months had it taken him to be able to say those words and mean them. Not too long ago, he would have thought his torment to be exactly what he deserved. But no longer. She hoped it would always be so simple between them. She looked up, surprised to find him beaming at her.

"Besides," he said. "It didn't work."

She shook her head. "I know it didn't work! I didn't realize the Underworld would interfere with-"

Richard interrupted her. "But the Underworld didn't interfere with anything. Your magic worked! I felt it in me, just as I felt Annabelle's when she confessed me." His grin widened. "It just didn't work."

Kahlan gaped at him, her hand frozen halfway to her mouth. "But how? That's not possible."

"It is," he insisted. "It searched my mind. I could feel it, but there was nothing for your magic to change." His smile faded and he leaned forward, his voice low and serious and a little sad. "I…when I was confessed to Annabelle, I loved her. I held her as dear to me as I have always held you, but no more than that. There is no more. I cannot love you any more than I already do. There is nothing in me for your magic to take. No part of me that is not already yours."

She tugged him close, and Richard scooted forward until his knees bumped against the bed. "Tell me this isn't a dream," she said.

"It's no dream."

"I don't…" Her heart felt light inside her chest. She reached out, pressing her fingertips to his cheek. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Zedd is too; I spoke to him." Kahlan stared up at him in wonder, wanting to believe.

"I really can't confess you?"

"No." He lifted her hand from his face, and slid it down to wrap around his throat. "Try it right now, if you have the strength, and you will see."

"Richard…"

"Trust me. If I was not certain, I would not risk it. I couldn't do that to you and Amara. I know the truth. All I want is for you to see it for yourself."

She stared up into his eyes and nodded. "All right. I'll do it."

"Should we move her first?" he asked, already reaching for their daughter.

"There's no need," said Kahlan. "She's immune. All confessor daughters are to their mother's magic. Think of how many times I released my power with her inside me." Her very first memory of her own mother was of her confessing a man while she held her safe in her other hand.

"Okay then," said Richard, his face hovering over hers. "Do your worst."

She laughed then despite herself, letting the ever present restraint on her magic slip away to flow into him. While Amara's eyes stayed clear, his went beetle black almost instantly. She all but screamed then, certain he'd been wrong. But she remembered his voice, his words. _Trust me_. She held in her fear and waited, slumping against the pillows as her magic left him. She felt as weary as she had in childhood, when she was a young Confessor first using her power.

"Are you still you?" she whispered.

He gave her a quiet smile. "I'm me."

And yet she had to test it. "Go stand on your head," she said, using the first outlandish command to cross her mind. If confessed, he would rush to comply with utmost sincerity, and then she knew her heart would shatter.

Instead, he grinned down at her, looking far more pleased with himself than a confessed man had ever dared to be in her presence. "I'd rather not."

"It didn't work," she wept. With a feeble hand, she tugged him down into a kiss. His mouth was warm and familiar, and he cradled her in his embrace. He was gentle with her, as if he feared she might break, but she felt the world unfolding before them all the same.

When he broke the kiss, he held his weight up over her on an arm. "Kahlan?" He sounded suddenly uncertain. "I know it's soon to be asking, but when you're well again…"

Amara squirmed against her chest as if she too was anticipating his question. Kahlan smiled through her tears. "It's not too soon. It's time."

His smile grew a little bolder. "Then will you marry me?"

She nodded, her hair rustling against the pillowcase. "Yes," she said. The room suddenly seemed very bright. "Yes. I'll be your wife."


	46. Poison

**XLVI. POISON**

Richard counted the days at first, imagining Kahlan's recovery as a foolish handful of weeks. For a time he thought they might be married even before the summer heat set in. But she was slow to regain her strength, and he watched her smile begin to fade a little more with each passing day. She stopped speaking of their wedding as happening soon, and murmured only that it would happen someday, when she was well again. Then, other things began to change. Zedd claimed it was the poison exercising its hold on her any way it could. She had found a way to wake up despite its presence, and so it dragged her down in different ways.

The nightmares started a little less than a month after Amara's birth. He would awaken with a jolt to the sound of Kahlan screaming and thrashing about in her sleep, and when he tried to wake her, she would cower on the mattress, drenched in sweat and trembling. Always Amara would startle awake at the sound and begin to cry, and Richard would be torn between the two of them, trying to comfort both at once.

In the beginning, he tried to reason with Kahlan while rocking Amara, but that never worked. No amount of talking could break Kahlan free of the terror that held her. She would stare past him with unseeing eyes, weeping and shivering. As long as her mother wept, so did Amara, and they had no peace.

One desperate night, he leaned over and unbuttoned Kahlan's gown while she trembled against him, guiding the frightened child to her breast. Amara quieted at once, and a moment later, Kahlan was no longer sobbing, but weeping silently. He held her close, whispering love and safety in her ear. But the suckling babe seemed to ground her like nothing he said could, and soon she had stopped shaking and drifted back to sleep.

The nightmares didn't stop, but he got better at handling them. At getting Amara to her mother's breast fast, and then holding them both close until they stilled. In some respects, that was the easy part. Kahlan only ever vaguely remembered the nightmares, and often the days were a torment all of their own. There were days, whole days, where she would lie on her side staring at the wall, and saying not a word. She would not eat, no matter how much he pleaded, and she would not smile, not even for Amara. She would only lay there, her face empty, her eyes dark with grief.

"I don't understand," he said to Zedd one day when Kahlan had lain there wordless all morning, her back to him. "It's not like her." They paced the narrow hallway outside her room.

"Of course it isn't like her," said the old wizard, pausing to smile at Amara when she grabbed his nose. "It isn't her, Richard. That's what you have to understand. It isn't Kahlan."

He knew the answer, though it did little to comfort him. "The poison. It's still there."

Zedd nodded. "And as potent as it was the day Amara was born. It still flows through her veins, black and necrotic. That she wakes up each day is extraordinary. And when she finds the strength to eat and talk to you, and kiss Amara, that is a miracle. I have no idea how she is managing, but somehow her body is finding a way to live with this."

Richard glanced back at the closed door, thinking of the sullen woman who lay behind it, staring empty misery at a wall. "She's so thin."

"She's nursing a babe that should probably still be fed by someone else, and the poison…"

"I know," he interrupted, not wanting to be told again. "It keeps her weak."

**xxx**

But by the third month, she was insisting she was stronger. Though she still looked more like a waif than a woman, she could carry Amara now, and she sometimes took walks with him down the stone corridor outside her room. It was a tedious path, and it often ended with her leaning heavily on his arm, but it felt like progress. He was eager to show her the rest of Isham. The city was one giant fortress filled with a labyrinth of walkways and secret rooms, and at the very center like a treasure sat a courtyard of golden sands and brilliant sunshine.

That was where Kahlan found him one day, their babe in her arms. He'd been sparring with Cara under the heat of the summer sun, and was sweating heavily. She had a lifetime's experience fighting on sand, and used it to her advantage. He was still getting used to the way it shifted constantly beneath his feet.

He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of Kahlan, trying to hide his astonishment at her appearance. "I thought you were sleeping," he called.

"I woke up." She tightened her grip at Amara. "I was watching you from the window. I need to start sparring again."

Richard frowned, uneasiness creeping over him. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

She was still too thin for her own dresses. The one she wore had belonged to some other, smaller woman. It was a pale shade of blue that made her eyes seem all the brighter, but it also made her look like quite a different woman from the one who'd first held a dagger to his throat that day in Westland.

Still, she fixed him with a narrow stare. "How else am I to get my strength back?" When he wasn't fast enough with an answer, she went on. "Cara can mind the baby while we spar."

Cara looked incensed. "I'm no nurse maid."

But Nox, who'd been watching from the only shady spot in the blazing courtyard, called out, "That's not just an ordinary babe. That's a Rahl child." He got to his feet, sauntering towards her. "If you aren't up for the challenge, then I offer my services as Amara's body guard. The babe will be in good hands with me, Lord Rahl."

Cara bristled, and, to Richard's amazement, stalked over to Kahlan and snatched Amara out of her arms. "I was their protector first," she said to Nox. "You'd make a poor replacement." They sniped at each other like a pair of schoolboys, but the looks they exchanged burned as hot as the day. Together they took Amara over to the shaded alcove built into the courtyard wall. Richard noticed that they sat much closer together than necessary, though their bodies didn't quite touch.

He turned back to Kahlan to find her pulling out her daggers. It filled him with a sense of dread. She ought to be weary just from the journey down to the courtyard, but there she stood, ready to fight. "Kahlan, are you sure you're up for this?"

She answered by shooting him a determined glare and attacking, blades first. Reluctantly he swung his sword around to block her, resigning himself to a quick session; she would only become angry if he backed away now. Though she was a little rusty, she fought well, her grace and skill with the daggers remaining. Soon they were flying around the courtyard, their blades ringing, both of them breathing hard. There was a light in her eyes that he hadn't realized he'd missed before. It was the happiest he'd seen her without Amara in her arms.

He held back, trying to keep things easy for her, but she kept attacking at a furious pace, until suddenly she faltered. She froze in the middle of the courtyard, a pained expression flitting across her face. Her breath was still coming fast, but instead of the flushed cheeks she'd had a moment before, all the color had drained from her face. He remembered all too well the last time she looked so pale.

Fear tied his belly in knots. "Kahlan?" He took a step towards her. Her daggers were still up.

"I'm fine. We can keep fighting," she said, but her voice was thin and reedy.

"Kahlan…"

She spun towards him, daggers glinting, but the next time their blades crossed, hers slipped from her hand. He caught her as she sagged to her knees.

"Richard." Her breath was hot on his neck, and he heard her second dagger fall. "I don't," she gasped, "I can't breathe." He hoisted her in his arms and whirled around. Cara and Nox had gotten to their feet. Cara still held Amara, so he turned to the general.

"Find Zedd," he shouted.

The wizard met them in the cool damp of a nearby hallway, the thick layers of stone protecting them from the midday heat. Richard had laid Kahlan down on a plain wooden bench and crouched beside her. Her breathing was shallow, her heart racing. She felt feverish; the hair on her brow damp with sweat. Her eyes were closed, but she clutched Richard's hand and he clung back, grateful for the proof she was still with him.

Zedd knelt on the cold stone floor in deep concentration, the air around them crackling with magic. His hand hovered over Kahlan's racing heart a long time before he was able to slow it. Gradually her breathing evened out, and a faint, pink tinge returned to her cheeks.

"Kahlan?" Richard whispered her name, and her eyes fluttered open. He all but sobbed with relief before turning to Zedd. "What happened?" he asked, cupping her cheek in his hand.

"She pushed herself too hard," said his grandfather quietly. "Exercising out in the heat of a D'Haran summer is a lot for anyone to take, and it let the poison get a stronger hold. I can feel it stirring in her veins. She needs rest."

Richard nodded and looked down at Kahlan, but she bit her lip and turned her head away. She'd put on the impassive mask of a Confessor, and he could read nothing in her face. His heart began to beat heavy in his chest; he had the uneasy sense that her mood was already starting to turn.

It wasn't until she'd been carried upstairs and carefully tucked into bed that he dared to say anything more. He paced the length of the room and back twice before stopping at the bed. Kahlan lay staring at the ceiling, a sullen expression turning down her mouth. He wondered how much of this was her, and how much the work of the poison.

"You can't do that to me again," he said softly, perching on the mattress by her knees.

Her gaze flicked to him, but she said nothing. "Kahlan, I mean it." He reached for her hand and pushed on, needing some response. His own heart was still racing nearly as fast as hers had been. "You need to be careful."

She worked her fingers free from his grasp. Her voice when she spoke was flat and almost resentful. "I'm not going to stop sparring. I'll find someone else to partner with me if you won't."

It was exactly the answer he'd been afraid of. Richard raked a hand back through his hair, and drew in a deep breath to calm himself. "You have to see how you're pushing yourself too hard. Spirits, you collapsed out there!"

She ignored him. "Amara was born over three months ago. I wasn't sparring with you even a quarter of an hour. I have to be able to defend myself."

"You're inside a fortress, Kahlan. No one is coming for you anymore! You're safe here."

She scooted away from him, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "I have to fight," she said, but all he noticed was how she sagged exhausted against the headboard.

"You have to stay alive."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm doing it again tomorrow."

Never before could he remember feeling angry at her. "No," he said through clenched teeth. "No, you're not. Even if I have to lock you in here myself, you're not doing it. I want Amara to still have a mother tomorrow. Spirits, I want to still have the woman who's going to be my wife tomorrow."

She glared at him, her blue eyes blazing. "You can't lock me up. I'm not your wife yet. I'm not your property." She all but spat her words at him, and Richard turned away from her to keep from shouting.

"I never said you were my property," he said at last, his voice one of measured calm. "But you're not well. You have to see that."

"I feel fine," she snapped.

"Fine?" He spun back around, slamming his hand against the stone wall. His palm throbbed, but the pain barely registered. "You feel fine?" He snorted derisively. "Wait here. Not that you have a choice. I doubt you have the strength to stand right now." Richard stormed out of the room, letting the door slam shut despite his sleeping daughter. When he returned lugging a bewildered Zedd behind him, Kahlan was staring at the wall.

"Show her," he said, grabbing her arm and thrusting it towards his grandfather. "Show her what you used to show me. Show her the poison."

Zedd looked slowly back and forth between the two of them. They had never shown her before. Kahlan hadn't asked, and neither Richard nor his grandfather had volunteered, not wanting to distress her when she was still struggling to stay conscious for more than a few hours at a time.

But this time the wizard nodded his head. "Perhaps I was wrong not to show you sooner. You deserve to know what you're up against." He traced a finger down the length of Kahlan's arm, from elbow to wrist. Though she hadn't said anything, she'd turned her head and was watching him intently. At his touch, her veins darkened, running black beneath her flesh. Her skin turned an unappealing shade of mottled brown and gray, as if her flesh rotted away from below the surface. He saw a shiver run through her, but she didn't pull her arm back. For a long moment, the room was silent as they stared at what the Keeper had wrought inside her, then Zedd tapped her wrist again, and her skin settled back to normal.

"That is the poison," said Zedd quietly. "I can draw it near to the surface, but it prefers to hide itself deep within you, weakening you in any way it can. You must give yourself time to adapt, dear one. The poison has not yet begun to fade, and I fear I cannot promise that it ever will." His pale eyes were fixed on her, calm and steely like some bitter, windless sea. "Accept that this may haunt you the rest of your life, or push yourself again like you did today and die from it. It's your choice." Kahlan drew her arm close to her body as if it was injured, and said nothing. Richard stared at her openly, but she would not meet his gaze.

"Get some rest," continued Zedd. He glanced between the two of them, adding, "I think it's best I leave you two alone." He retreated without another word, and Richard wondered just how plainly their fight was written across their faces.

Silence fell with the closing door, and he knew Kahlan would not break it. He took a tentative step towards her, "I'm sorry," he offered.

She turned her head away from him, but not before he glimpsed the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "Kahlan…" He settled in the chair beside her bed and reached for her hand with brave fingers. She didn't pull away, and the relief he felt spurred him on. "I shouldn't have gotten angry. I was scared, that's all." Still, she said nothing. "Talk to me," he begged.

She bit her lip. "What do you want me to say?" she asked at last, her voice very small. "That I'll lie here forever? I want to be who I was before."

"I know." He scooted closer, the chair legs scraping against the floor. "I know." Kahlan rolled onto her side, tugging him down onto the bed beside her. She was still so thin and frail; it made him fear to touch her lest she break. "Maybe you can't be the Kahlan you were before. But the Kahlan you are now, I love her too."

Kahlan pursed her lips together and said nothing. He reached out and twined a strand of her dark hair around his fingers. The world had become so peaceful in the aftermath of their daughter's birth. Nowhere did banelings walk among the living, and the stray D'Harans, who before had been lawless terrors, were being rounded up by Nox's men, and sworn into the service of the new Lord Rahl.

He had left it all largely in the hands of Nox and Cara. They had an innate understanding of the D'Haran people that he could never hope to match, even if he had an entire lifetime to devote to the task. And so it was that D'Hara was rising from its ruins with a Mord-Sith and a wild looking general at the head. He had a hunch they'd begun to enjoy working together in more ways than one, though he'd made no mention of it to either of them. They were so adept at managing D'Hara that, truthfully, there was very little he yet needed to do, but he could still feel the land coming together around him. The people were calmer and happier. More and more of those who'd taken shelter inside of Isham were venturing out to reclaim the land the banelings had stolen. Each day was bright with hope, and yet Kahlan lay like the dark heart at the very center of it all, and he did not know what to do for her.

He was surprised when she finally spoke again. "I wonder how it goes in Aydindril." Her voice was very soft, her eyes distant.

"I'm sure it goes well," he said after hesitating a moment. "You said there is a council who decides things in your absence, right?"

She sighed heavily, draping an arm over her brow. "A very long absence."

"Do you want to go to Aydindril?"

"I can't," she snapped, her words brittle. "Aydindril is weeks away, even on a fast horse. Amara is too young, and I can't even make it to the end of the corridor without tiring. I cannot go." She lifted her hand from her eyes to look at him, and her eyes were dark with guilt. He thought of how much he had come to care for the D'Harans already, though he had known them only a few months. Kahlan had served the people of the Midlands since childhood. He'd been a fool not to raise the subject with her before.

He thought of Cara and Nox, and how much they helped him. "Then we must send someone in your stead. Zedd would go."

Kahlan lifted an eyebrow, looking more than a little intrigued by the idea. "Are you sure he would?"

"Yes. In a heartbeat." He sat up and grasped her hand, his mind already racing over the orders he'd need to give. "And I can send a contingent of D'Harans with him just in case. He can bring you back a full report."

A small smile was playing around the corners of her mouth. Though her eyes were still sad, it was something. "Yes, I suppose that will work. Until I can go myself."

He tried to imagine the vast city that had been her home for so long. "Do you miss Aydindril?"

"Sometimes," she said quietly. "Yes, sometimes I do. But sometimes I forget to think of it at all." She sounded equally distressed by both.

He hesitated, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. "Would you want to get married there?"

She made a face. "No. It wouldn't be a wedding. It would be a pageant. Every council member would feel duty bound to make a speech. My dress would be weighted down by so many jewels I'd be unable to move on my own, and there would be so many people to greet and thank that we would not be alone until the night was half through." She huffed, glowering up at the ceiling as if he had insisted they be wed in Aydindril at once.

"Okay," he said softly. She said nothing. "Is there somewhere you'd rather be wed?"

"I don't know. Wherever you prefer." Her voice was hollow.

"When do you want to be wed, Kahlan?" He didn't know why he kept asking the same question again and again.

"When I'm well," she said. It was the same answer she'd given him for nearly three months now. He sighed and nodded, resigned to the wait, but this time she went on. "When I can stay on my feet long enough to make it through the ceremony. I," she bit her lip, looking away from him, "you don't know how hard it was for me to make it down to the courtyard today. By the time I got there, I could barely see straight. I was so scared I'd drop Amara," she admitted, her voice very small. "All I could think of was getting Cara to hold her."

Richard straightened up, looking at her in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything?" He hadn't imagined she'd been so exhausted even before they started sparring.

She shrugged. "I wanted to prove myself wrong."

She'd collapsed instead. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her shoulder. They didn't often lie like this, tangled close together, except when she screamed in the middle of the night, and that was different, a frantic necessity. Usually he kept to the cot and left her the bed. They weren't wed yet, and the last thing he wanted was to push her. He let her set the pace, and sometimes they would go days at a time without sharing a single chaste kiss. But now she reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair, running her thumb in circles across his scalp. She was so very dear to him.

"When Zedd leaves," he made himself say at last. "Promise me you will be careful."

She looked up, meeting his eyes, but she said nothing. Richard went on. "He won't be here to heal you if... He won't be here." He feared to think what would have happened if Zedd hadn't been there that afternoon to slow her racing heart.

It took a long time for her to answer, but she finally did. "I'll be careful."

"Even sending him away at all is a risk," said Richard before he could stop himself. He waited for Kahlan's eyes to darken and her to turn away, but instead she nodded once.

"It's a small risk though," she said, "if I am careful. I have to be able to take some risks, Richard, or you might as well lock me up in a pretty cage like a bird with clipped wings." There was such anguish in her voice that he clutched her to him.

"You're more than that," he said, his voice coming out low and rough. "No matter what you can do, you will always be so much more to me than that."

She touched his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered before drawing him down to her mouth.

He kissed her then a long time, while the daylight died and the room turned dark. Until their daughter woke crying for her milk, and they had to pull apart. Still, he resettled with his arms wrapped tight around them both, and his heart beat very fast through the night.


	47. Reborn

**XLVII. REBORN**

Kahlan turned to face the mirror. It was long and ornate, the carved frame wrought to resemble a wreath of desert flowers. She had asked for it under the pretense of examining her wedding dress, but the mirror had sat in her room two days already, and she still had not spoken with any of the women who'd kindly volunteered their services for the occasion. But that wasn't the real reason she wanted the mirror.

She checked again on Amara, who lay on her belly in the middle of the room. She was scooting forward on a little mat, reaching out for a set of wooden rings Richard had carved for her. When she saw her mother watching her, Amara paused and beamed a dimpled, one-toothed smile, her dark eyes bright. Kahlan smiled back. She loved that her daughter had Richard's eyes, though her hair was coming in darker still, almost black. Much more like her own than Richard's lighter shade of brown. Kahlan just stared at her a moment. She could not imagine a more beautiful creature, and already she was getting so big. When Amara busied herself with the wooden rings, Kahlan at last turned back to the mirror, touching her hands to her face.

She never used to think herself vain, but she felt such a strange tug at her heart now when she studied her face. She'd been lovelier before. Of that she was certain. Now shadows lingered beneath her eyes, and her skin stayed sallow. She trailed her finger over the hollow of her cheek, and tried to smile at her reflection, but she couldn't make her lips lift. She wondered if Richard still thought her beautiful.

Self-consciously she spun around, taking in the whole empty room. There were days when it felt like she would never escape it. She'd spent nearly six months inside recovering, and though she felt stronger now, she still tired too easily. Outside the walls of Isham, the brutal summer was fading to a warm, gentle autumn, and she had seen none of it.

She knew only tiny pieces of the world. The little she could see from her window, or hear from others sturdier on their feet than she. All was well in Aydindril, or so Zedd claimed. The council awaited the return of the Mother Confessor as soon as she felt able. Kahlan turned back to the mirror with a sigh. As soon as she felt able.

There was a heaviness in her heart that she could not shake, and she thought of the poison lingering in her veins. There were days when it made her ill, but often all she felt was weary and sad. The nightmares still came regularly, though she could remember little beyond the sounds of her own screams and a lingering sense of terror. Zedd had tried countless remedies, and she had rested days on end, just like he asked.

He told her that he thought the poison had begun to fade a little, but even that seemed tied to her mood more than anything else. These days, he instructed her to think happy thoughts as often as she could, thoughts the Keeper wouldn't understand. As if the poison was some private battle between her and Underworld taking place in her veins. But if it was, the poison was stronger, and she could not help but feel sad.

Idly she took her mass of long, dark hair and piled it on top of her head, considering herself in the mirror. Should she marry with her hair up or down? She let go, and the strands spilled like midnight around her shoulders. She didn't know. She was supposed to be planning a wedding, a real wedding born out of love; it was something no Confessor had ever done. She should be overjoyed. But she didn't know. It was wearying when she thought of it at all. She wanted to blame the poison, but it was more than that. Those bitter, unending hours she'd spent down in the Underworld begging for her daughter's death, trying to make a murderer out of the man she loved, had changed something deep inside her. She wondered if she would ever learn to smile easily again.

Kahlan tried to keep thinking of wedding plans, but her thoughts muddled and turned tedious. She hated the thought of a crowd at their wedding now, even a small one. Who would ever understand that day in the Underworld, except the two of them. All she wanted was for Richard to have a beautiful bride, and she had lost how to be that. She would look foolish in a wedding dress, gaunt and garish and unlovely. She stared back at the hollow eyed woman in the mirror, and thought a moment of smashing the glass. She stopped herself before she could raise her hand. It would only frighten Amara.

Instead, Kahlan reached for the laces on her dressing gown, returning to her real reason for the mirror. She had to do it now. Richard had traveled to the People's Palace for the first time, the weight of a country resting on his shoulders like he was born to carry it, and she supposed he was. It had taken every argument she had to convince him she would be okay while he was gone, and even then, he'd taken his fastest horse. She had a constant ache in her chest from missing him, and the nights were bitter, frightful things, but she pushed it all away as best she could. He was expected back as soon as tomorrow, and she needed the mirror hidden away by then. He would worry half the night if he saw it.

With a deep breath, she pulled the ties to the gown, and let it slip down her shoulders to pool at her elbows. The panels of delicate, rose-colored silk fell open, leaving her naked before the mirror. She stared at herself, at the ribs that showed too bold beneath her skin, and the thin, silvery lines that ran faint as a spider web across her belly. She touched her thumb to them. Amara had given her those. The skin was a little looser there than it had been before, as if it no longer knew what to do, now that the child it had stretched to cover was gone from her womb. Even her breasts were different, heavier, the nipples darker. She looked thin and worn, and she wondered what Richard would think. If he would want to make love to her on their wedding night. A shiver ran through her at the thought, and she could not look away from the mirror.

She was still staring at her reflection when she heard the door creak and start to open. The only person who presumed to enter without knocking was Richard. Her heart racing, Kahlan spun around, pulling her gown back on just as he stepped into the room. The ties all hung undone, but she clasped the fabric tight to herself and tried to smile normally. Richard gave her a curious look, but Amara had begun to babble loudly at the sight of him, waving a drool-covered, wooden ring in his direction. He went to her, hoisting his daughter high in the air and showering her face with kisses.

"Hello, love," he cooed, bouncing her again in his arms. Amara giggled with delight. "Your father missed you so much, yes, I did." Kahlan smiled at the two of them. They were so beautiful together.

"You're back early," she said, putting her back to the mirror as if that could hide it. "We didn't expect you until tomorrow."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I rode through most of the night. I wanted to get back to the two of you." He'd changed from his old woodsman's clothing to a pair of black breeches and a red tunic Nox had provided for him, and he looked the part of Lord Rahl right down to the tips of his new, black leather boots. She wanted to ask how it had gone at the People's Palace, but he stepped closer, scrutinizing the mirror.

"That's new," he said, his tone carefully neutral.

Kahlan nodded and clutched her gown tighter. "I thought it looked nice in here." Though he wasn't a Confessor, she swore he could sense her lying to him all the same. She wished all the ties on her gown weren't undone.

"Kahlan?" He shifted Amara to his other arm and gave her his amulet to play with. "Is everything okay?"

"I just…" she stammered, feeling her face heat. "I thought it would be good for looking at wedding dresses."

"You did?" His voice was hopeful, but his eyes remained skeptical.

"No. I don't know." A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a hasty hand. "I want you to take it away. Please."

He nodded once. "Okay." With a kiss to Amara's brow, he set her back down on the mat beside her wooden rings. "What's wrong?" he asked. His dark eyes seemed to pour right through her.

She glanced back at the mirror. Now it showed him standing beside her. He looked so unchanged by all that had happened. She shook her head. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

"Yes." His answer was instant and unwavering. "You are beautiful." He stepped closer. "What is all this about?"

"I was more beautiful when we first met."

"Kahlan…" His face creased with worry.

She did not know what made her fingers so brave, but she let go of the dressing gown, and let it slide like a waterfall to pool at her bare feet. She heard his breath come in a sharp gasp, and felt it in her heart. His gaze flicked up and down her body, and she shivered deep inside.

"Would you marry me as I am now?"

"Yes." His voice was a whisper, and he looked up into her eyes. "Don't you know I would?"

She trembled, feeling terribly bare before him. She looked down at her gown and wished it didn't lie so far away. "I don't… I looked better before."

He gave a shake of his head. "Not to me." He cleared his throat. She caught a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. "You are beautiful, but I do not love you for your beauty."

Kahlan stared at her feet, her words coming out mumbled. "I cannot be who I was before the Underworld."

"I know." It was such a simple answer. He always made the whole, confusing world sound so simple. He reached for the edge of his tunic, pulling it off over his head. She took a step back, half afraid, but he just let it fall to the ground and stood there bare-chested before her. "You're not the only one changed by that day," he said softly, and her gaze dropped down to an ugly scar she had never seen before. It ran ragged across the hard muscles of his abdomen. She knew at once that it was there that he had stabbed himself, welcoming death for the chance to find her.

With a tentative hand, she reached out and pressed her fingers against the line of red, ruined skin. "There was too much magic involved, from the sword and the Fatal Grace, for it to mend properly when Cara revived me," he said.

"You never mentioned it before." She traced the length of the scar with her fingertip.

He shrugged. "It's a part of life. That's all. Do you love me less for it?"

The question was absurd. "No," she said indignantly. "Of course not."

Richard smiled. "How many more ways do I have to say it for you to believe? You cannot confess me, and it has nothing to do with how much I like the way you look in your skirts. Or out of them," he added, a bright blush burning across his face.

Kahlan bit her lip, reminded of just how painfully naked she was. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling her face heat. Richard dropped to his knees at her feet, and then he was pulling her dressing gown back up around her. Tenderly he tied the ribbons into bows, and when he was finished, he touched her cheek before letting his hands fall to his sides. She breathed easier. He was always setting her at ease. And suddenly she knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing she could say that he would not understand, if she could just find the courage to open her mouth and say it.

"I," she took a breath, "I can't plan a wedding. Us…" She gestured between the two of them. "This isn't for any crowd, but…I don't want to keep waiting. We'll wait forever if we wait on the poison any longer. I want to marry you, Richard, before the week is through."

His whole face split into a smile that touched her soul, and he nodded, leaning forward until their foreheads met. He would take her as she was, and she would do the same.

"Have you thought of a place?" she asked, her voice quiet. She wondered if they would be wed here in this fortress that sometimes felt more like a prison than her salvation.

But Richard hummed low in his throat. "I have." And then he was tugging her by her hand towards the wardrobe in the corner. "Get dressed and I'll show you it now. It's not far from here." It was the first time he'd sounded so eager in a long time, and she dressed herself in a simple gown without once looking in the mirror.

**xxx**

He'd found it months ago, he said, but had wanted to wait for the right moment to show her. She knew the truth was that she had been too sullen to appreciate it before, but he spoke without reproach. They set out across the golden sands, Kahlan on a slow, gentle horse with Amara in her arms. It was a long time since she'd been outside the walls of Isham, and she turned her face towards the perfect, spreading sky.

The place he spoke of with breathless excitement lay not quite an hour's ride west of the fortress, but at her pace, it took nearly two. She didn't mind this time. Amara was enchanted by everything she saw, and unlike the last time she'd rode out across the desert, her belly swollen with child, she looked not once over her shoulder in fear. Richard was giddy with delight the whole time, and she breathed it in. His laughter made her feel lighter, almost as if the poison was fading away, and she forgot to worry about just when she would begin to feel weak again.

Their destination appeared quite suddenly, a patch of green between huge, yellow desert flowers, leading the way towards reedy grasses. Further along, the sand gave way to real dirt, and actual trees reached for the sky, still green with summer's leaves. The oasis was all that Richard called it, and he beamed when he lifted her down from the horse.

"You found trees," she said, plucking a leaf from a branch and holding it out to Amara.

"I did." He ducked his head, looking sheepish. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," she said, and she did. As much for how it delighted him as for the wild, green beauty of the place.

He took her hand, as eager as a little child. "Can you walk a little farther? There's something else I want you to see."

And she could. He had to hold Amara, and she had to lean on him quite a bit as they made their way through the trees, but this time it didn't make her feel as if something died inside her. She was only grateful for the strength of his arm and the way he whispered in her ear when he lifted her over snarled vines.

And then they were on the edge of a clearing ringed in wildflowers, and there in its midst stood a humble cabin.

"Someone lives here?" she asked, turning to him in surprise.

Richard shook his head. "Just dreams at the moment," he murmured. "But I thought, maybe, Isham has a lot of memories…" He trailed off, and she wondered if he knew how she found it her cell most days. She walked closer to the house, pressing a hand to the sturdy logs. Everything about it reminded her of the Richard she'd first met; a sweet, foolish, hopeful boy. He was still there then, somewhere deep inside. Perhaps she was too.

"You built this place," she realized, tracing the grain in the wood.

"The men helped a lot," he said at once. "I thought, well, I know it isn't much, but I thought we could use a place just for the three of us. These lands are safe now, and we need time, before Aydindril and the People's Palace and…" Again he let his words die on his lips, but she knew what went unsaid. They needed time to heal, before they went back to living lives for other people. Before she let her mind turn to all the children she still must bear for the sake of her line, and so Amara would never be a Confessor alone. She needed to learn how to just love this man and be whole again, be perfectly ordinary.

She stretched out her arms to the two of them, Richard and her daughter, and when she laid her head against his chest, she could feel his heart beat. She listened to the sound. They were all alive, and she could live this life, whatever it held. "It sounds perfect to me," she whispered.

They sat a long time in the clearing, letting Amara explore the grass with chubby hands, and watching the setting sun dance a fleeting moment of glory across their home. Kahlan leaned back in Richard's arms, and she forgot to feel weary until she was back in bed inside the stone walls of Isham, closing her eyes to the night. For the first time in many months, no nightmares came to wake her.


	48. Absolution

**XLVIII. ABSOLUTION**

Their wedding day dawned warm and gentle, sunlight shimmering across the sand. Kahlan wore a green dress because, when she'd asked Richard once, he said he favored the color. It reminded him of trees. She'd asked the women of Isham only for some spare dress to wear, a green one if possible. But in the three days she'd given them, they'd wrought something entirely new and wondrous. It was the exact shame shade as newborn leaves unfurling, the bodice adorned with tiny silver beads in a pattern of vines and flowers. The gown fell over her body in gentle, cascading folds, and when laced into all the flowing fabric, she didn't feel quite so gaunt as she had before.

The women came and pinned her hair up, rolling strands together into twists and curls until it looked like something that belonged on the head of a queen. They slid silver slippers onto her feet and pushed jeweled pins into her coiled hair. The women pronounced her beautiful, and then she was on her way, riding out to the oasis of green in the middle of a desert. They set out early in the morning, when the eastern sky still held an echo of the dawn, so that she would not have to ride in the heat of midday and end up exhausted at her own wedding.

Her little party consisted only of Zedd, Nox and Cara, with Amara riding in her lap. The wizard had insisted Richard ride ahead of them, claiming that it was bad luck for him to see her in her gown before the wedding. She thought the idea of bad luck was foolish after all they'd been through, but Richard seemed delighted by the idea, and so she let it be. He had set out even before she awoke, and her breath caught when she thought of how she'd not seen him since the night before.

Whey they at last reached the little island of green, the sunlight was filtering softly through the trees, painting dappled patterns all along the ground. She caught sight of Richard a ways off, just standing there staring up at the wide spreading leaves.

"Look, love. There's your father," she said to Amara, pointing a finger in his direction. Amara understood at once and gave a delighted cry, followed by a string of babbled sounds. Kahlan smiled, feeling a bittersweet tug on her heart. She could not remember ever loving her own father as Amara already loved Richard.

He turned at her little voice, looking as if he'd been shaken from his thoughts, and came striding through the trees, smiling broadly. He wore the black breeches and boots Nox had given him, but instead of the red tunic of Lord Rahl, he wore a plain-woven white shirt. She understood why he had chosen it. He would come to her not as Master of D'Hara, but only as Richard, the man who loved her.

"Kahlan," he said when he reached her, staring at her as if all else had disappeared. "You look beautiful."

She could only smile at him as her heart beat faster. Smile and do nothing else. She was about to wed this man.

He took the weight of their daughter, holding her little body easily in one arm. With his other, he reached for her hand, and led her through the trees to a place where two ancient trunks rose side by side, their old, gnarled boughs meeting high overhead to form an arch. The ground was a bed of moss and wildflowers, spotted here and there with red mushrooms like scattered rubies. Through the trees, she could just make out the clearing where their new home sat. Even the white walls of Aydindril were not as beautiful as this. "It's magical," she breathed, looking up at Richard. He hadn't shown her this place when he'd brought her here before.

Richard smiled shy as a child at her. "I hoped you'd like it."

She nodded, feeling a blush spread across her cheeks. "I do."

The others stopped in a ring around them, and she glanced their way. Zedd stood nearest, his weathered hands clasped together, and a wide smile deepening his wrinkles. He'd saved her life and her daughter's, and was as much a grandfather to her as to Richard now. Nox waited beside him, looking out of place in the gentle forest with his hulking form and his ever wild, matted hair. But she'd come to learn that the man had a quick mind and a ready laugh, and his hands had helped to build the house that lay beyond. She knew he'd become like a brother to Richard in the months they'd spent at Isham. And then there was Cara. Her sister's murderer at her wedding.

She would give most anything to have Dennee standing there beneath the green of the trees, and yet she found that she didn't wish Cara gone. Somehow her heart had done the impossible and stretched far enough to forgive her. Cara had become their friend and protector, and when she'd tried to stay behind that morning, Kahlan had been the one to insist she come with. And now she didn't fail to notice the arm Nox draped around her shoulders, or the way Cara rolled her eyes at him, but then smirked and eased a little closer like he was a skin she was well used to wearing. The Mord-Sith had changed in so many ways. She was even the one to hold Amara when Richard handed her over.

Their daughter beamed, and smushed her sticky face against Cara's leather. She had a special fondness for Cara, the tiny Confessor taking to the Mord-Sith in a way that seemed to defy all the rules of the world. But all the rules had been undone because Kahlan turned back to Richard, and took the hands of a man she had not made her mate. His hands were warm.

There was little to the ceremony. No speeches or songs. Only green leaves overhead, and ancient words spoken together in new voices. The words echoed over and over, burning on her tongue and right through her soul.

_Where you walk, I will walk._

_And where you dwell, I will dwell._

_Your people will be my people,_

_And your life will be my life._

Zedd wove a current of magic like a bow round their joined hands, pulled from the Creator down, and when she looked up, it was into the eyes of her husband staring back.

**xxx**

By mid afternoon, the others had left for the ride back to Isham, and she sat alone in the grass with her husband and child. Richard wove a handful of wildflowers into a circlet and placed it on Amara's head. She wore it a happy moment before pulling it off and trying to taste the petals.

Richard laughed and took it from her, settling it on Kahlan's head instead. She turned to him with her crown of flowers, and he kissed her there in the middle of the clearing, the sky as blue as a jewel overhead, and her mouth was a smile against his lips. The afternoon lingered long, and she rested in his arms, eating the food they'd brought with, and watching their daughter explore handful after handful of the sweet smelling grass. The old exhaustion still came to drag her down, but Richard eased her head into his lap, his fingers winding their way around her coiled hair.

She looked up into his dark eyes, her voice quiet, "Do you think it will always be like this?"

She meant the poison, and she knew he understood. Though she'd felt far stronger the last few days than she had in months, she was still a long way from the warrior she'd once been. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe. But I don't think so. You've come so far already, even though Zedd has no understanding of the magic at work."

"He thought I should be dead, and I'm not."

Richard smiled sadly. "We all thought that. We thought we could never be together. We thought many things and were wrong, Kahlan." He took a deep breath, and his words tumbled from his lips heavy and earnest, as if he was emptying out his own heart for her to inspect. "Maybe we're wrong again. Maybe there's some cure that we'll find, or maybe it's a slower battle. One we take a little at a time, until suddenly, one day, there is nothing left to conquer." He wove his fingers through with hers. "Will you hate it if you can't…"

His words trailed off, but she knew where they went. Would she hate it if things never got any better than this. She reached up to touch his face. "No," she murmured. "That would be like, like hating Amara for how she was made. When I first heard the prophecy, I thought either you or I would end up dead. We're both still here. I'm tired, but…that's nothing. I can't hate what we saved because of the cost of saving it." She shifted in his lap, staring up at the bright blue sky. The world still thrived and spread before them, good and beautiful. Her weakness was a small price, all things considered. Far, far better than dying along with her daughter at Richard's hand.

"I was bitter before," she admitted, her voice soft. "But I can't be anymore." The poison had stolen her joy, and that had been worst of all. Somehow, in marrying Richard, she'd wrested it back. She beamed up at him from the warmth of his lap. "I'm too happy."

He smiled at her and bent down, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Me too," he said. "Now sleep awhile. Just sleep." His voice closed her eyes as gently as a lullaby, and she did.

She was less weary when she woke again to lengthening shadows and the scent of evening. He took her hand when the sun disappeared beyond the trees in an orange blaze, and together they went into the house to light the candles. The night was warm enough that there was no need for a fire, and so they used the candles only, setting them on the windowsill and the plain oak table that graced the front room of their home. Kahlan trailed her hands over the wood Richard had worked himself, and thought if she could live here in this place her whole life, she would be perfectly content.

Amara was already asleep in her father's arms, and he carried her to the little alcove he'd built between the two rooms of their house. Kahlan's dress rustled as she followed after them, and she watched her husband lay their daughter down in the cradle he had carved for her himself. She had never guessed his hands held such beauty waiting hidden in them. The sides of the cradle were carved with flowers and little forest creatures, wise-eyed birds nestled among the wooden leaves to watch over Amara.

Kahlan leaned against Richard and just stared at their child, taking in her softness and the little bow of her lips. She was so, so beautiful, and there were moments when she seemed too great a gift. It had been over a year since Kahlan had felt her first quickening in her belly, and she would bear the pain of that year over and over again with joy to gain their daughter. Now the pain seemed to all be falling away like dead skin, leaving a new world beneath that they had helped shape, one that was bright with beauty and heavy with hope.

She turned to Richard in the dark, and together they walked into the room beyond, where a single bed lay wreathed in candlelight and promise. She felt her heart beat faster, and she couldn't speak.

He stopped when she stopped, and looked at her long in the darkened room, his face half golden with light. "You know," he began, his voice low and sweet. "I'm happy just to be near you." She knew what he was saying. They could use that wide bed with the white sheets and that quilt like a rainbow laid over it for no more than sleeping in, and he wouldn't begrudge her.

But she managed a single, whispered "no" and reached for the pins in her hair, pulling it all down, down, down. They had been scared too long. He was her husband now, and they could have this. The vows they'd said would be bound by more than echoed voices, but in their sweat and their bodies, and more daughters to follow Amara. She didn't have the words to tell him this, but she turned around and gave him the laces that ran long down her back.

She felt the warmth of him drawing nearer, and she shivered when he brushed her hair to the side, like a flock of birds taking flight in her belly. His fingers plucked at the laces, tugging gently a moment, and then they were all coming undone. His fingers traced the bare skin that appeared, and then his lips did the same. When she at last turned round again, her dress fell down, and that was another dead skin shed. Less than a week ago she had felt ugly before him like this, but his gaze danced all over her body, and she knew her own beauty in the glimmer of his eyes. She was the bride he desired, the wife he loved.

She stripped him of his shirt, her fingers trailing slow along the scar on his belly. And when he lifted her in his arms, he brought her to the bed where he laid her down. Her fingers found the laces on his breeches, and she tugged them free. His boots thudded loud on the floor. And then they were both bare, his body and hers, and she was not afraid.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his mouth against hers. His hands hefted her breasts, a hair roughened leg lay warm against her thighs, and she was about to come apart in sighs. But he was gentle and hesitant, and a moment later he spoke, his lips soft on her shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I've birthed a child. You won't hurt me." It was the first thing that came to mind, but he chuckled and then she laughed. For a moment there was only his hand curled in her hair and the sound laughter made dancing along bare skin.

But then he pulled away, the candlelight so bright in his dark eyes. "Kahlan…" That was not what he'd meant, and the Seeker would always have an honest answer.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "We've said those words before. They are too many for right now." She wove her hands through with his. "I'm not afraid."

He did not stop her again, and when she climbed atop of him, he did not push her off and pin her down. Instead, his hands followed hers. They spent a long time seeking out the shape of each other in the dark, before she felt bold enough to lift her hips and let him help her slide down to take him in. But when she did, she was a sweaty, gasping thing, her insides keening and full of an endless wanting for this man. Oh, this man of hers.

She gasped and moved against him, feeling a fullness between her legs that did not shred her heart. The world whittled down to Richard and their bed, and the knowledge that their daughter slept a doorway away all through the soft night. She rose above him, his hands on her hips, and his eyes gazing up as if he stood in awe of her. And there was love in his look and the way his fingers traced her; she knew the answer, but she had to say the words. Had to ask before she let herself be pulled under and consumed by the fire she could already feel burning inside her.

And so she paused then, her fingers knotted in his hair, their bodies pressed into one flesh. She let the question tumble from her lips with a gasp and a whimper. "Richard, what are you thinking about?"

His words put her back again whole. "My wife."

_Fin_

**xxx**_  
_

I just want to say thank you so much to all of you who've taken the time to read this story. It's been such a journey to write, and it feels a bit strange now that it's all done. I've had a great time though, and it was twice as fun to work on knowing you guys have been reading along. And an extra thanks to everyone who has taken the time to comment. It kept me working on this thing, and always made my day.


End file.
